The Cost of Survival
by AnikaandAj
Summary: "I figured I either have two options. Shoot you before you have the chance to run or let you go and wake up to find all of my stuff gone. So I chose the third option." "And that would be?" "Doing a favor to the human race by not letting a pretty girl starve to death, of course." Jace and Clary are two survivors in the zombie apocalypse. If only zombies were their biggest problem.
1. Brave New World

**Long time no post. I'd like to welcome myself, as this is the first time I'm posting something for The Mortal Instruments (even though this story was originally for a different series before I changed it). I have about 11 chapters of this story already written and so far, I've gotta say it's unlike anything else I've ever written. I'm really excited to release this and I hope you're excited to read it.**

* * *

Where were you the day everything went to hell?

It used to be a common question to hear. Every survivor was interested in hearing stories of the past. Thinking of the past brought peace.

Clary hadn't heard the question in a long time; so long that she almost missed the repetition of her answer. Maybe it was because it had been so long since she had seen a regular person. A living one, that is.

Speaking of that…

Clary was sprawled upon the forest earth as a zombie hovered over her, preparing for the kill. She hadn't come close to death in a while. She had missed it. She kicked her feet out with a snarl, landing squarely on the zombie's chest and keeping it at bay. It flailed it's arms, mindlessly attempting to claw at her and tear into her ripe flesh. The longer she resisted, the harder the zombie fought for its meal. It was struggling so hard that, for a moment, Clary worried her foot would plunge into its decaying chest.

Her hands moved across the deadening grass and twigs in a flurry, as if she were making snow angels and not just scrambling to stay alive. She needed her weapon and she needed it fast.

 _Come on_ , she mentally screamed, her mind beginning to verge on what could only be described as panic. His hands were getting awfully close.

Using the sensitive skin of her palm, the physically young girl felt the ground, desperate to find her lucky stake.

Leaves? _No._ Twigs? _No._ Leftover arm? _Oops, definitely not._ More leaves, more dirt, _bingo_.

At the last possible second, Clary felt her palm enclose around the cylindrical base of the smooth wood, just as the zombie broke free of its restraint. It tumbled after her, falling onto the girl's writhing form and locking it's large dead eyes on the tender flesh of her neck before… _crunch_.

An explosion of blood oozed all over Clary, just after she had managed to impale the starving corpse milliseconds away from her death.

Today she had survived. She wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad thing.

In a simpler time, just before the apocalypse hit, Clary had been the weird girl at her college. She was only in her freshman year, but she had been instantly cast away from her peers and forced into isolation. She was fine with that. She preferred to be alone.

That is, until there was nobody around to flaunt off her loneliness to. Everybody that had turned Clary away and labeled her as a freak were dead. She supposed that she should at least be a little sad, but the irony was too overwhelming for her to think much about those who now either walked the earth as soulless monsters or lay scattered in pieces as the remnants of a meal. Clary had survived. That was more than what could be said for most people.

In the beginning, survival was all that mattered. Four hundred days later after the living population had been reduced to an endangered species, she began to wonder what the point of surviving was if nobody cared. Sure, she was a big winner for being strong and clever enough to outwit the brainless corpses. But who cared? The zombies sure didn't. She was only one small meal and, to be honest, there wasn't much meat on her at that point to devour.

Her entire life, Clary had proven herself. She had proven that she could beat those who doubted her. Now nnless she wanted to try striking up a conversation with one of the zombies loitering around, there weren't many left to gloat to.

Clary wrinkled her nose as she pushed the corpse off of her, doing all she could not to whimper at all of the leftover blood that had gushed onto her and continued to leak down her arms.

While she had never been a girly girl, the gory display made her want to hurl.

As soon as she made her way over to a nearby bush, that was exactly what she did.

Upon finishing emptying her stomach of the scarce food she had scavenged, Clary wanted—no, needed—food. Pronto. In this world, she couldn't afford to pass out from hunger or dehydration. Judging by the dampness of the earth as Clary continued to move west, a source of water couldn't be too far off. She would get water and wash off the thick and sticky crimson from her pores to avoid getting infected herself. Then, Clary decided, she could search for food.

Or die in the process.

* * *

It had been about two days, give or take, and Clary still hadn't found any food. She stumbled precariously through the dense forest, resembling a zombie herself as her stomach begged for food. Along with her growing hunger, Clary could feel despair setting in. By the second day, she truly believed she would die. Not by a fight to the death, not in a blaze of glory, but because she couldn't find any freaking berries to eat.

That is, until by some unforeseen luck, she stumbled upon a camp. Warily, she crouched down behind a bush large enough that her red curls wouldn't give herself away. She, Clarissa Fray, had stumbled upon a human. Like, the living and breathing kind. Her first reaction was to reveal herself and beg for a few sweet morsels of food, maybe striking up a conversation if she was lucky.

What she ended up doing instead was cowering behind a three foot tall shrub, scanning the campsite for movement. She would wait until the perfect moment to raid the camp and steal all she could carry.

Once upon a time, Clary never would have resorted to something as low and underhanded as stealing. Then the apocalypse came and the world went to shit.

Clary narrowed her eyes, watching the roaring campfire crackle, twisting and dancing towards the sky in streamers of orange and red. There were a few logs conveniently located around the fire and a single beige tent, large enough for two or three set up a few feet away just far enough to avoid catching fire. Briefly, she noticed there were many patches on the tent that had to be repaired crudely with duct tape, but it was otherwise in perfect condition. There was one set of footprints at the campsite, but they seemed to go back and forth. _Great_ , Clary rolled her eyes. The human she had stumbled upon was a pacer. As if the apocalypse couldn't get any worse.

"Well it's not everyday you see a pretty girl in a bush," remarked a deep voice behind her. _Oh shit_ , Clary winced.

She spun around, her hair whipping behind her, as she reached for her stake. Where she would usually find it attached to her belt, her hand grasped an empty pocket of air. Where the hell—

"Looking for this?" The same voice mocked her cockily. Growling, she looked up at the man she had been planning on stealing from.

He wasn't nearly as lean as she had figured a survivor would be, especially on his own. He was well muscled with a golden tan, which he mostly covered up with a faded black t shirt, surprisingly not at all stained with blood. He had rich gold curls that looked to be spun by Rumplestiltskin himself and eyes that gleamed a deep amber. _I'm sensing a_ pattern, Clary noted mentally, finding humor in the golden man standing in front of her. He was attractive, Clary had to give him that. But even after so long of being alone, that didn't matter. Why? Because he had _her_ stake.

"Give me back Mr. Pointy!" She snarled, lunging for the sharpened wood. He dodged her attack, an amused smirk resting on his lips. He evaded her clumsy footwork with a grace that made her want to punch him even harder.

"Mr. Pointy? Seriously?" He sneered, stepping backward as she clawed at the hand that carelessly held her weapon.

"Listen twinkletoes, it's my weapon and I want it back." She jumped at him once more. And missed.

"A weapon? That's just sad. It's a stick." He spun the stick like a baton, clearly not seeing the danger in the slab of wood. Clary grit her teeth.

"No, it's a weapon. It's saved my life against the zombies more times than I can count. Now hand it over, or else." She held out her hand, glaring sharply at the significantly taller man. He glanced at her dirt stained palm thoughtfully before laughing in her face. How someone that had lasted so long in the apocalypse could laugh with a total stranger was beyond her.

"I thought stakes were for vampires."

"It's sharp and pointy. It works for zombies too."

Not willing to waste her energy on chasing him, Clary resorted to crossing her arms like a child and staring him down. She was beginning to miss being alone. Why couldn't this guy have just let her raid his camp in peace? How come he just _had_ to find her and annoy her to death? Selfish, that's what he was.

"Okay then, slayer. How would you like some dinner? I just went hunting and got some rabbit," he offered, tossing her stake to the ground. It landed inches from her toes, the sharp end piercing the soil. Clary looked down at her stake, then back to the stranger.

"You do know I was just about to steal your supplies, right?" She asked dumbly.

"Yup," he replied, popping the _p_. "I figured I either have two options. Shoot you before you have the chance to run or let you go and wake up to find all of my stuff gone. So I chose the third option."

Her eyebrows rose, her curiosity getting the better of her. "And that would be?"

"Doing a favor to the human race by not letting a pretty girl starve to death, of course."

* * *

"Do you always eat like this or have you just been starving longer than I thought?" The man, who she had discovered was two years older than herself, remarked. She paused from her gorging as messily as the zombies to bat her eyes innocently.

"Excuse me for enjoying my first time eating anything but berries since the outbreak," she retorted, wiping her messy palms on her jeans. His expression changed to one of horror.

"How have you been eating just berries?" He spluttered. Clary was sure if he had been drinking water he would have spit it out.

"Simple. I can hunt, but I can't cook worth a damn. Back in college I had to ask for help just to make Ramen," She shrugged, feeling slightly more relaxed with the crackling flames basking her in a cocoon of warmth that shielded her from the evening chill.

"College? Is that where you were when all of this went down?" A genuine smile ghosted his lips at her nostalgic expression. It had been too long since she'd been asked that question.

"Yeah," She answered, her eyes traveling to meet her shoes as memories bubbled to the surface that had long since been buried. "I was in my boyfriend's apartment the night it happened. My boyfriend, Simon, had just proposed the night before and I turned him down. When I heard a knock at the door, I assumed it was him. It was, but it wasn't. He was a zombie, the first I had ever seen. When he attacked me, I freaked and thought he was just angry about the rejection. I somehow managed to escape and ran. It wasn't until I ran into more zombies that I figured out what was going on."

"You didn't kill him?" He asked with his gaze locked solely on her.

"I did, but not then. Two days later I had to kill him after he had made a meal of my brother, Jonathan." Clary clutched her knees closer to her chest, finding it suddenly much harder to breathe.

The stranger's eyes darkened, empathetic for her loss and the losses he had undoubtedly had as well. He was smart enough not to say sorry. He knew as well as she did that an apology from a stranger was the day they admitted things were only going to get worse.

"My name's Jace," he said simply, extending his arm for her to shake. She looked at it suspiciously.

"I want to trust you. I've found that when a person puts a face to a name, it becomes much harder to kill them," He elaborated, his arm still outstretched.

She smirked, his logic resonating with her, even with her paranoia induced sense of unease. Could she really trust him?

"Jace? How'd you get stuck with that one?" She snickered. He only rolled his eyes.

"At least I _have_ a name."

"I have a name!" She defended. "If you must know, it's Clary. Clarissa Fray."

"Well, _Clarissa Fray_ , its nice to meet you. I'm grateful you didn't rob me."

Amused, she shook his hand.

"It's a pleasure, Jace. It's a shame we won't be seeing each other much longer, it's been nice talking to someone," she sighed, folding her hands once more. Jace looked surprised.

"Oh, and what's keeping you from staying? We make a hell of a team." He argued, the fire's illumination making his amber eyes glow while he leaned closer.

"I'm more of a loner. It got tiring having to watch people getting picked off one by one," she replied grimly.

"But what if we didn't die? Two is stronger than one." His eyes roamed across her form for a signal of her giving in. He wanted her to stay, _that_ Clary could tell.

"Jace, you're a nice guy, but I'm surprised you've survived this long. There are no _but's_ when the world is hell on earth. Everything ends in death. Every choice and decision has the possibility of death," she chastised, not even caring how bitter she sounded.

"It was like that before the apocalypse. Life has always been like that. There's always been the chance of dying, but nobody seems to pay much attention until a corpse tries to eat them."

"Well frankly, the mortality rate has risen quite a bit since corpses started eating people," she stated matter of factly. "We're all going to die, it doesn't matter whether we're together or alone."

Clary was stubborn. She refused to let Jace win an argument against her. She was afraid of what would happen if he did.

"Better than dying alone." He shot back, challenging her just as he had since the moment they met. This time, Clary had no witty comeback. Her vault of endless sarcasm had been drained, now replaced with the thought of Jace's offer. She could stay. Maybe she could even learn what it felt like to be alive again.

But could she trust him?

After ten minutes of silence, the man stood up and made his way toward the oversized tent.

"I'm going to get some sleep. You should too. I don't suppose you want to join me?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. Her scoff served as her answer. He shrugged regardless, displaying no regrets.

"Good night."

"Sleep well," She returned.

"We'll probably be dead by morning," they finished in unison. The chant had become a universal language to all the survivors.

He nodded, pleased, before tossing her a sleeping bag.

"How do you know I won't leave?" After a lifetime of being an outcast, ostracized by living and dead, his openness was a foreign concept.

"You won't. You may have survived this world by closing yourself off, but I've found that the only way to survive is to never stop believing in a person's humanity. The day I refuse to trust will be the day they win." He spoke with such conviction that Clary almost felt ashamed of herself for doubting him. Almost.

"And what if I left?" She challenged.

"Oh, I'd find you," he spoke with a confidence Clary had only been able to fake. With that answer, Jace retreated inside of his tent, leaving Clary alone with her thoughts and the lullaby of the crackling fire.

Maybe she could find a home here. Maybe she could be happy to be alive once again. Maybe, just maybe, she could stop running.

* * *

When Jace rose the next morning, he wasn't fooled by the ethereal glow of sunrise. He knew something was wrong the moment he woke up. But what?

His questions were answered the moment he opened his tent. The only sign Clary had been there at all was the stake, Mr. Pointy, impaled into the earth inches away from his toes. The lingering whisper of her betrayal rang through the air as he looked around at where his supplies had been ransacked through and stolen.

He could have been angry, abusing himself for trusting the thief. He could have unleashed his fury onto the barren world and destroyed whatever he could spare. He could have sunken to the ground, finally losing his hope in humanity.

Jace merely smiled, leaning down to pick up her weapon of choice.

He wasn't worried; he knew this wasn't the end of their journey.

He would find her.

* * *

 **I want to make this perfectly clear. This is a zombie apocalypse story, but it won't be based off of The Walking Dead (at least, the tv show). And, therefore, the lives for the characters won't be easy. Clary especially is a bit OOC, but you'll find out soon how the apocalypse has shaped her into who she is today. That's all I have to say for now. I have a huge stock of chapters just waiting to be uploaded, so make sure to review to get the next update more quickly. That being said, thank** **you for reading and welcome to a hell of a ride. Please buckle your seatbelts. Trust me.**

 **-Anika**


	2. Before the Blood

**I'm loving seeing the response for this story already! I was planning on waiting a week before updating but you guys broke me. Here's the chapter!**

* * *

 _Before_

"Clary, I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you," he had proclaimed, getting down on one knee. "Will you marry me?"

Clary tasted blood in her mouth as she attempted—and failed—to push the memory away. How could one moment define the rest of her life?

"No," she had breathed, mere hours ago. Looking back, she wasn't sure why she had declined. It had been a fairy tale proposal. There had been a candlelit dinner, a string quartet, roses. He loved her. One look at him was enough to prove that.

But Clary had said no. It had all come at her so suddenly, she reminded herself. They had only been dating for six months. She was only a freshman in college. Clary wasn't ready for finals, let alone marriage. _I had panicked_ , she thought, but she didn't regret her choices. He had seemed so broken after her refusal. The waitress had paused in her deliverance of the champagne and Simon had never looked so… _numb_.

Did this mean they were broken up? Clary didn't know. She loved Simon. There was no denying that. But it wasn't right. No matter what, the entire evening she hadn't been able to ignore the stabbing feeling of wrongness chewing up her insides. She couldn't be sure what she wanted out of life yet, but somehow Clary knew it wasn't him. As terrible as it made her feel.

Clary looked around the apartment her and Simon shared with dread. He hadn't come back home yet. She had no idea when—if—he would, but she was itching to see him again. The anticipation and unknowing that surrounded his inevitable arrival was worse than the confrontation that would follow. She was sick of waiting; she was sick of running. She just wanted to see him again.

Waiting wasn't doing her any good.

Desperate to take the edge off of her growing anxiety, Clary made a beeline for the fridge. The case of beer that had always repulsed her now looked undeniably enticing. Without hesitation, she pulled out a can and drowned her nerves away. She had always held such an aversion to drinking—especially due to being underage—but that night, she relished in the numbness of feeling the amber liquid supplied her.

In between sips, she had reached for her phone. A piece of her felt disheartened there were no messages from him, but she quickly shook those thoughts aside. She had to see if anybody knew where he was before she got too tipsy. She just had to know he was okay. Otherwise, not even the alcohol would subside her guilt.

"Hello?" A dulled voice spoke on the other end of the receiver.

"Raphael?" Clary asked, even though she knew it was him. "It's me, Clary."

"Who?" His reply made her frown. Like most of her college, Simon's friends ignored her existence. In the beginning, they had even tried to talk him out of dating the "weird girl". That had been a real self confidence booster.

"Clary. Simon's…girlfriend." She couldn't help but feel like a liar, even to herself. Was that still true? Had she gone from girlfriend to could-be-fiancee and demoted to ex?

"Oh yeah. Uh…what's up?" Raphael sounded uncomfortable. Clary rolled her eyes, needing another swig of beer to get through a conversation with this asshole.

"I…uh, do you know where Simon is? It's important that I get in touch with him." She hated how pathetic she sounded. Like she was a needy, overprotective girlfriend forced to stay at home. Her distaste with herself wasn't as important as making sure he was okay. He had always been so gentle and sweet, but Simon was too sensitive for his own good. There was no telling what he was going through.

"Simon?" A loud crowd cheered on the other end of the line. Raphael was most likely at another party with the other low lives Clary refused to associate with. "Yeah, he swung by earlier. Yowza, what did you do to mess him up? I've never seen him so trashed."

Clary clenched her fists. Raphael really wasn't helping.

"Do you know where he is or not?" She growled, suddenly disappointed in the amber drink contaminating her brain cells. It obviously wasn't good enough if it couldn't get her through a conversation with Raphael without homicidal tendencies.

"Yeah, yeah. Actually, not really. He left Eric's about an hour ago, absolutely wasted."

"Was he _driving_?" It was a struggle not to punch him through the phone. If Simon was as drunk as he said and he was driving…

Clary would never forgive herself.

"How am I supposed to know? When he left, Lily was all over me and—"

"Hey, Raphael, shut up," Clary spat sharply, not needing to hear the details on how the asshole's sexual advances were more important than his best friend's life.

"Just..let me know if you hear anything," she spoke softly.

"Right, sure. Hey, what's your name again?"

Feeling thoroughly repulsed, Clary slammed the phone down on the marble countertop. The apartment felt too big to be so empty. She had always felt so lucky to have moved into the spacious penthouse with a city view she could stare at for hours. It had been a major step up from the cramped dorm she had shared with her awful roommate, Seelie. Now, the apartment felt lonely. It's added space only served as a reminder of how badly she had screwed up. She should have stayed and made sure Simon was okay. She should have talked to him and told him that she loved him, but just wasn't ready to marry him. She should have—

The thump on the door tore Clary from her rampant thoughts.

"Simon," She breathed, rushing to open the door. She had never been so happy to hear him. There was another thump at the door, this time more insistent. _He must be seriously drunk_ , Clary thought to herself, twisting the door knob.

"Simon?" The sight of him shocked her. In only a moment she took in his sickly appearance. His once coffee stain eyes were bloodshot with a yellowish pallor and a crazed absence. His normally alabaster skin tone had been reduced to a sickly green. He smelled as if he had been bathing in raw sewage and there was just something about the way his body was positioned—like a puppet lost without its master—that sent chills scraping down her spine. Unfortunately, the moment she paused to take in his appearance was a moment too long.

Simon uttered an inhuman growl, pouncing in a twisted clunky fashion as he desperately clawed at Clary.

"Simon, what are you—" Her words died the moment they slipped from her tongue and were instead replaced by her surprised scream. He collided into her cannibalistically, his eyes showing no traces of recognition as he scratched and snarled.

"Hey, stop!" She croaked, her eyes wide and afraid. Simon snapped at her neck, his teeth barely missing her skin. The weight of his body was crushing her small frame. She looked at him in horror, using all of her strength to push him away.

"Simon, get off me!" With one final push the pressure vanished from her chest and she quickly scrambled out from underneath him.

Unfazed, Simon moved to attack once more. Clary could see the bloodlust in his eyes. She could feel the hunger in his movements.

She had never been afraid of Simon before. All of the stories of abuse and rape happened to _other_ people. Now he just kept coming at her and he wouldn't stop. For the first time, Clary knew that if given the chance, Simon would _hurt_ her. Or worse.

He sprung at her predatorily, outstretching his arms to grab her like a meal. Without hesitation, she grabbed the nearest object—a chair—and swung at his head. There was a sickening crack. Simon fell to the floor in a motionless heap. Clary stumbled, dropping the chair in horror. She was stunned. It wasn't until now that she noticed the gaping wound on his left bicep. It looked like a bite from a wild animal.

"Simon…" She whispered, her voice as soft as air. His head rose sharply, his dead eyes looking to meet hers. In an instant he was pulling himself up again, once more in ravenous pursuit and clawing at her legs. For a moment, she stopped. Why couldn't he just talk to her? Why was he doing this?

Tears began clouding her eyes. She needed to get out of there. She ran as fast as she could—despite being slowed down by by her dress and heels—but he was quick on her toes.

"Simon, stop!" But he didn't. He wouldn't. He wasn't the Simon Clary had grown to love. No, this Simon was much different. She had her back towards him as she ran. Looking back, Clary would realize that had been a mistake.

A splitting pain burst through the nerves of her skull as he monstrously captured her hair, tearing her back to him. Tears were now streaming down her pale skin, washing inky tresses of mascara with it. He hovered over her, snarling and snapping his wicked jaw as he dove to tear into her neck. Out of self preservation, she threw her arms up to push him away. The act caused a strain on her already shaking muscles. He just kept coming and Clary was growing tired. It felt as if they had been fighting for hours.

A trail of blood had begun to seep down her head, probably from the impact of her fall. This only seemed to make him attack her harder. She needed a plan. She needed to do something. She needed to get away from him.

"Simon, I love you," She wailed, before calling on every ounce of strength she possessed to flip him from her shaking form. Before he could lunge for her again, she hurdled over the couch and slipped her hands beneath it's underbelly. She flipped the heavy Italian leather couch before he could follow and watched it fall on top of his writhing form. There was no telling how long he would be pinned.

She didn't look back. Instead she bolted for the door and shut it behind her. Only then did she allow herself to break down into tears.

* * *

"I'm going to kill that slimy bastard," her brother Jonathan growled. She hadn't had anywhere else to go after the incident except for her brother's small townhouse. At first, he hadn't been too pleased to see his baby sister knocking on his door at one in the morning, but had quickly let her in after seeing her haggard appearance. She had immediately passed out on the couch without explanation. He had woken her up with a pancake buffet and an interrogation.

For the past hour she had settled to being curled up on his couch while Jonathan paced, going back and forth on the various ways he would get revenge on the asshole that hurt his sister.

"I'm going to skin him alive, burn his bones, and then dance around a ceremonial fire so that I can resurrect him and kill him all over again," he decided confidently, only seeming to get angrier with each step.

"Jonathan, stop," Clary ordered quietly, hugging herself to forget the previous night. She doubted that was possible.

He spun towards her incredulously.

"Clary, he _attacked_ you. The rich momma's boy has always rubbed me the wrong way, but he tried to _hurt_ you. There's no way this guy is just going to get away with hurting my baby sis."

On any other day she would've smiled at his protectiveness. But in the course of a day her boyfriend proposed, took off after she rejected said proposal, and attacked her in a rage. Oprah just didn't prepare a girl for this stuff. She was still wearing the silk blue dress she had worn for their date, back when things were still normal. It was tattered now. The hair she had uncharacteristically spent time on had been smeared with her own blood. In short, she was a mess. Both inside and out.

"Revenge isn't going to help. He's dangerous, Jon. I already called the cops to come and arrest him," she tried to reason, wanting him to just drop the subject. Jonathan's face fell as he looked at Clary, no doubt seeing her as weak and as helpless as she felt.

"Can't I just stab him a little bit?" He pouted. Clary rolled her eyes and threw a pillow at him, which he dodged with a slight grin. At least after the crap day she had endured, she could always rely on her brother for a sense of normalcy.

Jonathan 's smile faltered as he took in her appearance somberly.

"You look like shit," he observed, rather bluntly. Clary raised an eyebrow indignantly, prepared to throw another pillow at him.

Realizing his mistake, Jonathan put his hands up in defense, "Whoa, whoa. You know that's not what I meant."

"Uh huh. Whatever you say asshole," she muttered, the barest hint of a smirk on her face. He put a hand over his heart in mock pain.

"Ouch Clare, that hurts. I was just going to suggest you go change. Tessa's got some clothes and whatever girls need that I'm sure she wouldn't mind you borrowing."

Tessa was Jonathan's girlfriend of three years. He had fallen head over heels in love with her in college and had been absolutely lovestruck in her presence ever since. She was the most independent person Clary had ever met, which was why Tessa refused to move in with Jonathan. Officially, at least. She still practically lived there, somehow able to withstand longterm exposure to her brother. Clary's family had always been so sure she would follow in their footsteps with Simon. For some reason she felt as if she had disappointed them.

"Clary? Earth to Clare?"

"Huh?"

She was snapped back to reality and greeted with the sight of Jonathan's palm obnoxiously waving in front of her face.

"Uh yeah, sure. That sounds great," she mumbled, robotically rising from the security of the couch and going to his room. Clary was no stranger to Jonathan's house. He had graduated from college two years beforehand and worked hard to get a job and rent a house until he could buy one for himself. That was one of the reasons he had never liked Simon. Her boyfriend came from a well respected family that handed him everything that he could ever wish for. With that came pressure for Clary to act prim and proper in front of his family. She had always come to Jonathan's to blow off steam. Just…not like this.

Shaking away her thoughts, Clary sighed and tore through Tessa's half (more like two thirds) of the dresser to search for something to change into. She settled for a long sleeved baby blue top paired with a comfy pair of jean shorts. Tessa had been going through a pink phase, so the redhead doubted she would miss them.

Clary took her time changing. Her body felt sore and stiff and her bruises ached. By the time she had changed, washed her face clear of any makeup and brushed her hair, she had been gone for half an hour. Knowing Jonathan, in that time he had either managed to bake a gourmet soufflé or blow something up.

To her delight, it was the former.

"You've outdone yourself Jon," she murmured in between bites of the chocolate soufflé.

"Always a pleasure to share my gifts with the world," he grinned cockily, leaning against the counter. "So I'm thinking after you inhale the chocolate in that bowl the two of us should have an epic Mario Kart showdown."

"Oh you're so on," she grinned, about ninety percent sure chocolate stained her teeth in unattractive lumps. Clary wasn't an idiot; she knew what he was doing. He was trying to distract her, but she didn't care. She had missed hanging out with her brother and just feeling carefree.

But that didn't happen this time.

Even while savoring her chocolate cloud of heaven, winning in Mario Kart, and laughing as Jonathan rolled on the ground in humiliation, she couldn't help but think about the events of the previous night. Simon had looked so…unlike himself. She had just assumed he was drunk. As if being drunk could _ever_ be an excuse for what he did. No, just because it was the first time _she_ ever drank didn't mean she had never seen anyone drunk before. Simon would drag Clary into college bars all the time where she would witness Raphael's antics, which were deplorable, but nothing like the events of the night before.

Something had been off with him.

She voiced her concerns to Jonathan, but his response had been lackluster.

"It's obvious," he shrugged while pounding on the buttons of his controller. "Your boyfriend is a zombie."

"Haha," she responded dryly. Sighing, Jonathan paused the game and returned his focus to her. Clary had always been impressed with his ability to morph between the hyperactive goofball and the sensitive, caring older brother.

"Listen Clary, guys like Simon are used to getting everything they want. You rejected him and he showed his true colors. Let's just be glad that he didn't get away with it," he explained, as if it were that simple. But he hadn't been there. It wasn't a typical abuse story where a guy hits a girl or vice versa. No, his actions had been nothing short of animalistic. She had looked into his eyes and what she saw was _not_ Simon.

"Jon, it wasn't like that. It was almost like he was trying to…I dunno… _eat me_ or something sick like that. He just didn't look like himself. His skin was this ghastly shade of yellow, his clothes were a mess, there was this bloody wound on the back of his arm, and his eyes were like these dead orbs just rolling around in his skull! I'm telling you it wasn't natural."

There was a pause as he took in her description.

"You do know I was kidding about the zombie thing, right?"

Clary frowned at him. How the hell was she supposed to share her frustration when her own brother was making fun of her?

"How's your head?" He finally asked, concern written across his face. She leaned away from him and subconsciously grazed the back of her scalp. It had been bleeding pretty badly when she arrived at Jonathan's the night before.

"I'm not crazy," she muttered darkly.

"I'm not saying you are. I'm asking how your head is after sustaining a head wound and also engaging in underage drinking like a no good hooligan," he raised his hands in a sign of peace. She was too tired to glare at him.

"Fine, I guess. I just hope I bled all over that asshole's fancy carpet."

Jonathan snorted, twirling the cord of his Xbox controller absentmindedly. It was a nice visual after such a harsh twenty four hours. Somehow Jonathan's presence had a way of making her feel her most comfortable. It was something she missed after he left for college.

"If I had anything to do with it that dick would have a lot more than a stained carpet," he spat, tensing up at the very idea of Simon.

"It's a really nice carpet," Clary appealed. Her remark did nothing to curb his bloodlust. She sighed, knowing she would have to do something to control her brother.

"Hey, listen, why don't you put in a game you actually have a chance at _winning_ and I'll get some coffee." She gave him a small smile as she stood up, only making it three steps before the window to her left exploded. The scream of a woman was quick to follow.

"What was—"

The droning of a roque fire alarm cut off Jonathan 's question. Clary flew to the window, craning her neck to view the source of the chaos.

"Do you see anything?" Her brother asked, peering behind her. A few people had begun to crowd the streets. Some had even begun to run. Aside from a shadow or two from behind the curtain of the house perpendicular to her, Clary saw nothing.

"No, but you should probably call the cops. Just in…"

The words faded from her lips as she spun to see Jonathan holding an open phone.

"The line's dead."

 _Oh_ , she thought. _So much for that plan._

They stood rooted in thick silence that seemed impossible to break. Until it wasn't.

There was a heavy thumping at the door. Clary swallowed tightly, sure she had heard a similar sound only a day ago.

"I don't suppose that could be our friendly neighborhood grandma coming to ask for sugar?" The snowy blond deadpanned, drifting to the locked door. Clary's chest constricted. She was unable to escape the feeling of dread that had descended upon her.

"It's Simon." She didn't know how she was so positive. Jonathan's pace to the door quickened. He looked out the peephole, radiating in wave after wave of fury at the thought of Simon being there.

"Shit, you're right. Wow you weren't kidding, he looks like crap," Jonathan remarked, finding some dark humor in the deterioration of the man who hurt his little sister.

"Yup," She spoke, popping the _p._ "Wait, you aren't seriously going to let him in, are you?"

He ignored her bewildered gasp.

"Calm down Clare, your big bro's got this covered. I'm just going to make sure this douche doesn't try anything again." He waved her off and twisted open the door.

"Listen here Si—"

Simon descended upon her brother immediately, snapping his jaws with the aim to devour and destroy. Ice burned though Clary's blood. She was unable to contain the horrified scream that burst from her raw throat.

"What the _fu—_ "

Jonathan roared in pain, a sound so guttural and emotive that Clary could've sworn she felt the pain herself. Crimson flashed in the outskirts of her vision. Without a thought, her palm enclosed around the cool circular handle o of her brother's carving knife and she flew to his rescue.

Clary's stomach plummeted as the attack assaulted her visuals. She knew she would never be able to forget what lay in front of her. The smell, the sight, the terror, the gore; all of it would be permanently burned into her memories. Jonathan choked, using all of his strength to keep the monster that was Simon at bay. His arm was gushing blood. Chunks of raw flesh and tissue were stuck in the open mouth of the growling monster across from her.

He was _eating_ him.

The thought alone would've made her hurl if not for the dire situation at hand.

"Simon," she spoke, but her words came too late. The knife she gripped in her sweaty palm felt powerful as she swung and arced the steel tip into her ex-boyfriend's skull. He dropped, falling away from Jonathan to drop to the wooden floor with a heavy _thump_.

She choked, unable to breath, let alone scream. Horror burst from her breaking heart and imploding lungs. Gravity had dominated over her weak knees, sending her sprawling to the ground unceremoniously. She just stared at the body lying inches from her own. From the still open door, Clary had an unobstructed view into the street, where beings that suspiciously resembled Simon trekked by in ever increasing numbers. The sound of her screaming caught their attention. Though she was still unable to feel breath in her gasping lungs, Clary kicked the door shut. To her left, Jonathan stared at his still bleeding wound in shock. He was looking worryingly pale.

"Jonathan ?" Her voice shook with emotion. She still felt tremors from the knife's impact in her shaking hand. The _squelching_ sound the blade had emitted as it entered his skull would haunt her nightmares until she died.

She was a murderer. She had acted out of self defense. Her brother's life had been at stake. She chose one life over another.

 _Murderer._

"Clare," he gazed up at her, his green eyes glittering with unshed tears.

"Simon. He was a—"

"He was a psychopath. He—he wouldn't have stopped," she would tell herself that mantra to live with herself. His blood stained her hands. Jonathan shook his head. His movements were slow, as if treading water.

"He—he bit me." The shock in his voice echoed across the room, across her mind.

"We'll get you patched up. There's a hospital a couple miles from here. I can call Tessa and fill her in," she spoke as if she were trying to convince herself.

"I can't believe it. The bastard was _actually_ a zombie. He was a zombie and he bit—"

"No!" Clary interrupted her brother sharply. "No. No, no, no. There are no such things as zombies! If anything, he must have taken some kind of bath salts at the party."

Jonathan looked unsure. There were more screams coming from outside. Clary bit her lip.

"You're going to be fine, Jon. I promise. We just need to get out of here."

He nodded. She wasn't sure if he believed her, but he trusted her.

Everything would be fine.

* * *

 **If you think this is sad, just you wait, because this is just the beginning. 😘**

 **So to keep myself from publishing this entire story at once, my update system is going to be after 12 reviews or after a week from the last one. Whichever comes first. Next chapter we get back to Jace and get to see a few more characters get introduced to the plot, so be sure to review!**

 **-Anika**


	3. The Girl In the Net

**For some rea _son_ it wasn't showing that this chapter was posted so hopefully it works this time.**

* * *

 _Now_

Clarissa Fray had no doubt in her mind she was headed for hell. She had done whatever it took to survive. Stuff that made her glad her brother wasn't around to see what she had become. Adapting to the new world had been hard at first. It had gotten easier with time as her morals could be described only in various shades of grey. Now, it was a second nature.

So why was it, as she tore through the forest, that she had begun to feel _guilty_? It was an emotion she hadn't expressed in a long time. Perhaps because the only people she had associated with as of late had been dead and trying to eat her.

Jace's infuriatingly optimistic personality had been refreshing. Naive, but refreshing nonetheless. She had to admit that her time spent with him had been among the few fond memories she had collected since the apocalypse's beginning. There was just no way she could have stayed. It would be complicated and painful. He was different than most survivors. That made him dangerous. Or worse, living on borrowed time. She had liked him. In a post apocalyptic world, that was just something she couldn't afford.

So she ran. She continued to run even as twigs snapped against her skin and thorns tugged at her hair. The only sound in the world was the rough padding of her feet against the moist earth.

That was the world she knew. You fight and you survive and then you die. She had been lucky so far. Sometimes it became hard to remember the zombies she fought had been just like her once. What had been their downfall? Were they not strong enough? Were they not smart enough? Could it really be determined as anything other than having a bad day? Clary refused to find out. She kept running, knowing the roaring in he lungs and the burning in her legs was a sign she was still alive.

"Please, my brother is sick. We just need the medicine!"

Clary paused, her eyes growing wide at the sound of another voice. It was young and desperate—possibly belonging to a child. Her mind was calculating the possibilities with the precision of a machine. If need be, she could easily overpower the child. Clary's presence went unnoticed as she slowly shifted closer.

 _Sloppy_ , Clary noted, moving into a crouching position behind a bush. From her perch she could see a boy maybe around ten. He was standing opposite from a group of the oldest people Clary had come across since zombies started eating people. It was a strange sort of juxtaposition, she realized, watching the youngest and the oldest in a Westside Story-esque face off. Most children and elderly were dead.

"I don't know, Hodge. After what we went through to get this stuff…after what happened to Jem?" The woman spoke in what Clary assumed was supposed to be a hushed voice to the man on her right. He gazed at the little girl from behind his cracked glasses.

"Please. He's really sick," he accentuated, big blue eyes sparkling. He was surprisingly clean.

"Is he bit?" The man on the left asked sharply. He was the closest to the little boy in height, due to his hunched back. He shook his head quickly, sending his glasses to fall askew upon his nose..

"Well—" The leaves shifted to Clary's left. Her hand immediately clutched the spot in her boot where she kept Mr. Pointy, but grasped air. She cursed under her breath, remembering she had left her stake behind at Jace's camp. As if it were a consolation for her leaving and stealing his stuff.

A zombie pinned beneath a log had spotted her. She exhaled in relief. She could handle a trapped zombie without her weapon of choice easily. It's arms stretched out pathetically, clawing at thin air. Clary rolled her eyes. Some zombies were just so _dumb_.

Before the group could move to investigate the noise, she cautiously shifted her weight towards the flailing zombie. She had picked up a good sized rock from the forest floor and now gripped it tightly. When she was a safe distance away, Clary quickly swung the blunt force down into the zombie's soft skull. Three times, for good measure. It would have been quicker with Mr. Pointy, but the rock got its job done. The squelching of the brain as it burst and popped its juices over her hands was something Clary would never get used to. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. The smell positively sucked.

"He's sick. I already lost my parents. I can't lose him too!" The boy sobbed, holding his face in his hands. Clary's attention had turned back to the scene before her.

"He's just a little boy," the elderly woman had once again turned to the man beside her. Clary noticed the boy's attention was beyond the group. Unnoticed by the trio, a girl around Clary's age slipped into the clearing. Her eyes were trained on the trio's supplies which resided on the ground behind them.

"Holy shit," Clary breathed. She now understood what was happening. Despite her best intuition, she found herself jumping to her feet. All eyes—and weapons—were on her. The girl froze.

"They're robbing you. Just thought you should know. His perfectly healthy sister is about to grab your supplies."

The little boy gaped and the girl let out a squeak as the trio rounded on them. Clary couldn't explain why she felt the need to prevent a robbery after just committing one herself. She liked to think that maybe even after everything she did, there was a conscious that throbbed inside of her, however weakly. Even in the zombie apocalypse. there was no excuse to rob a trio of old people.

"What did you do?" The girl screeched at Clary. The boy accompanying her had taken off into the woods. Clary shrugged, choosing to walk away with her own (stolen) supplies in hand. She had dealt with too many humans in one day. Her social skills (which sucked to begin with) were embarrassingly subpar.

It wasn't any of her business what happened to the two. All she could do was what she had done so far. Keep on walking and focusing on how to survive the next day. If she did that she could—

Suddenly she was flying. And screaming. A little bit of both as the security of the forest floor vanished. Her surroundings were closing in on themselves. Tighter and tighter.

Clary felt her chest constrict as she struggled to find security. She was enclosed in a bag—no, a net—about ten feet above the ground. In her surprise, her supplies had fallen to the ground beneath her.

She was stuck.

"Shit!" She screeched, pounding her fists into the ropes that contained her. Her palms shook the enclosure furiously.

"Thank you, dear. Without your help we'd be in a very tough spot," the voice of the elderly woman caught Clary's attention. How long had the trio been standing there?

"Uh, yeah. Don't mention it," Clary replied shakily, "Wait, actually I take that back. Do mention it. Is there any way you can let me down from this trap? The little con artists must have set it up."

"Oh, no. That's our trap," The stout man spoke proudly, puffing his chest out.

"That's great! That means you can get me down!" Clary enthused. Maybe her day was about to start looking up after all. The trio glanced at one another in a conspiratory manner.

"Actually, we can't. Sorry sweetheart, but I think we're just going to take your stuff," the woman apologized. Her two cohorts had begun to gather her belongings. Clary's jaw dropped.

"But I saved you!" She insisted, fighting even harder against her restraints.

"Oh and we really appreciate that. Really, we do. But it's a tough world out there. We just have to do what we can to survive. You understand, don't you?"

Boy, did she ever. But the damn geezer didn't have to sound so patronizing.

"No! Get your dirty wrinkles off my stuff you hag!" Clary threw her body weight violently against the net. The old bitch looked offended. The three cast her a dirty look before leaving. At the last moment, the stout man took out a case of something and poured it over the grass. Clary couldn't get a good look at it, but judging by the rotten toad's dirty expression, it wasn't very nice.

No. Freaking. Way.

No longer did she care that she was in a zombie infested wasteland. She began to scream. Boy, did she scream. Screamed and punched and clawed and…

The sound of laughter echoed into Clary's eardrums.

 _Great_ , she mused bitterly, _more people_. And not just any people.

"Well, well, well, you're very _high_ and mighty these days, aren't you?" Taunted the young boy. Clary groaned. Little kid taunting was bad. Little kid humor was worse.

"They stole our stuff too you know," The girl pointed out haughtily, one hand placed upon the curve of her hip. "We were trying to get back what was ours. That is, until _someone_ messed it up."

"Look, I'm sorry," Clary sighed. "I really am. I thought I was helping. I know you two probably hate me, but it's going to be dark soon. I need to get down from here pronto. Any chance you could help me out?"

She looked to the two desperately. They glanced back and forth at one another, seeming to communicate mentally. After a long pause, the girl nodded.

"We don't have any weapons to cut the rope with," she gestured to herself and her brother, "but we saw another campfire nearby. We'll go get them and come back for you."

It was like irony was kicking her butt today. She knew what camp they were talking about. She couldn't imagine what Jace would do to her once he found her.

"Wait, no!" She cried, but the two had already run off. She hadn't felt so helpless in a long time. The only thing that could make her day worse was—

A low groaning noise came from below her. Then another and another. Zombies. Lots and lots of zombies.

Well, shit.

* * *

Jace hadn't always traveled alone. The world was already dying. It didn't seem to make sense to seclude himself from what was left of it. From the very beginning of the apocalypse he had found himself jumping from group to group. Most groups from the beginning, back when people had hope someone was coming to save them, hadn't lasted very long. There was one group he had been apart of that he had stayed with the longest. It was large—almost like a community of people. It had made it easy to pretend the world was the same. It hadn't taken him long to become attached, but he hadn't been able to stay. Not after what had happened.

Since his departure, he had managed to last on his own. It was lonely and quiet, but it was safer than he had been. He had even managed to stay camped in more or less the same place without being found. Then he met Clary.

She was human, that was for sure. Maybe a little too human. Her numerous flaws reeked of humanity. Yet, she acted so familiar. That had intrigued him, amongst other things.

 _"How do you know I won't leave?"_ She had asked. He could tell she had been alone much longer than he had. She possessed all the tell tale signs.

 _"You won't."_ He had been so sure of himself. " _You may have survived this world by closing yourself off, but I've found the only way to survive is to never stop believing in a person's humanity. The day I refuse to trust will be the day they win."_

He had been so sure he had gotten through to her. But she had left.

He would find her. Jace was sure of it as he skillfully packed up what was left of his camp. He would find her, he would get back his supplies, and then…

Jace wasn't too sure what he planned to do next. Keep running? Keep hiding? Living in a zombie apocalypse hadn't left him too many options when it came to recreational enjoyment. Especially not when his life was always at risk. Finding Clary wouldn't have been as big of a deal if she hadn't showed up, acting so damn familiar, and then stolen the only thing that had kept him safe from those out for his blood.

There was no question about it. Her stake—Mr. Pointy—burned his palm as he set off in his trek through the woods. If he didn't find her, they would find him. He wasn't prepared to allow the first human he had encountered since he had been on his own darken his own reflection on what was left of humanity. Especially not when she'd acted so much like _her_. This was his second chance. He wasn't going to mess it up.

But before he could do anything, he would have to find her through the vast forest crawling with lame brains. Which brought him to the present, as he ducked under overlong branches and quietly stomped across bloodstained leaves. He had been walking for what felt like hours and while he had come across the tracks of wandering lame brains, there were none to be found. _Strange_ , he thought, _where could they all have gathered to_? Especially when it would be dark soon.

"Hey! Hey you!" A tinny voice, childish in pitch, distracted him from his ponderings. He looked up to see a boy and a girl, both similar in appearance, rushing towards him. He observed the two with brazen curiosity, paying particular attention to the small boy. It was rare to see kids anymore. At least, the living ones.

"Please," the boy with messy black hair panted. "We need your help."

Jace rose an eyebrow in question. The girl, who Jace noted was strangely wearing heels, stepped in for her brother.

"There's a girl—kinda annoying—that's trapped in a net. We can't get her down and it's going to be dark soon. We told her we would get help."

Jace was now highly intrigued. How many girls were there to be found in these parts of the woods? Could it be that he had found her?

"By the way, you wouldn't happen to have any medicine, would you?" Jace blinked at the girl's insistent question as she stared up at him with big, brown, hopeful eyes. Slowly, he shook his head in response.

"Not anymore. It was packed with some supplies a girl stole from me that I'm trying to get back," he answered with the barest hint of a determined smile upon his lips. The girl jumped into action, tugging his hand along through the dense forest. The boy staggered behind, moving slower than his much more enthusiastic sister.

"I'm Isabelle, by the way," she chimed proudly. "That's Max. It's been just the two of us for about a week now."

Jace had enough sense to not ask what had happened to make them alone. In a world where the mortality rate was at an all time high, the past brought pain for everyone.

Suddenly, Jace heard a low growl carrying through the trees. He put a hand on the girl—Isabelle's— shoulder and drew her back. The moaning continued, magnifying with each breath.

"So this is where they're all going," Jace spoke in a hush. "We're going to have to go a different way to get around that clearing. They all seem to be circling that area, which will give us an opportunity to get her down in time."

"But—"

Max didn't have to finish. Over the sounds of moaning came the equally distinct cursing and brash yelling that belonged to a human. Clary.

Finding her had just become infinitely more complicated. No longer was it a matter of getting her down. Somehow they would need to face off against a horde of zombies and get her down with only a gun and a stake in terms of weapons.

Was one girl worth it? One girl that had done nothing but steal his supplies? Most survivors of the apocalypse would have allowed her a cruel death for her actions. But that was just it, wasn't it? Most survivors acted out of survival over morality. Jace would rather die than become a survivor that could only be told apart from the lame brains by the beat of his pulse. He would save her, he would get his stuff back, and he would never let her live this down. But first…

"We need a plan," he murmured, still unsure about allowing a kid that couldn't be above the age of ten and a girl who looked like she had walked out of a prada store into a battle with a horde of lame brains. Unfortunately it didn't seem like he had many other options.

"Like what? Don't get eaten?" Max muttered, nervously scratching his shoulder. Jace rolled his eyes and slowly inched closer to the clearing. There must have been around twenty lame brains and with all the noise they were causing there was bound to be more. Jace pulled out his gun.

"Find some weapons. Rocks, remnants, anything that's sharp and hard enough to penetrate the skull. Our best bet is to get the herd to disperse. Once you two find weapons we're going to form a triangle around the clearing and make enough noise to grab their attention. Then we pick them off. Sound good?"

The two nodded fiercely and scoured the earth floor. Jace moved behind a section of trees that gave him a good view of the clearing and the siblings. Clary was thrashing around in a makeshift net about ten feet off the ground shooting off a storm of nasty expletives. Lame brains were in a massive heap below, attempting to claw at her.

He sighed, silently wondering what he had gotten himself into as he shot his gun into the air. It let out a loud _bang_ , drawing the attention of both the lame brains and Clary. Her eyes landed on him in horror, leaving her lips parted in a gaping _o_. He merely smirked at her and turned to face the crowd now shifting towards him. From her position, Isabelle screamed with a grin upon her delicate face. Some lame brains turned while others continued to progress towards Jace. He steeled himself, gun in hand. Max hollered at the top of his lungs, thinning out the lame brains more so. Some remained underneath Clary.

Making sure there was enough empty space behind him in case he needed to retreat, Jace narrowed his eyes and quickly shot the front line in the heads. As they came closer, Jace continued to shoot without hesitation. It was a normal repetition he had forced himself to become accustomed to.

Breathe in, breathe out, aim, pull the trigger, repeat, live. A break in the pattern meant death. That wasn't an option. Not yet.

The growling was growing louder. From the corner of his eye he could see more lame brains from the outskirts of the woods swarming to the clearing. With every corpse he killed, three more appeared from the woods.

 _Bang_. The last lame brain's blood splattered across his face. For just a moment, he turned his back on the clearing to observe the approaching dead.

That was when he heard the scream. Jace spun around quickly just in time to see the hungry lame brains managing to reach the bottom of the net holding Clary in safety. The combined weight tore the bottom, sending Clary falling into the hungry crowd.

"No," Jace breathed. A new pressure clawing into him held him from rushing to her aid. Without struggle, Jace threw the lame brain off of his back and shot it in the head before it could stagger towards him once more. The decomposing body thumped to the ground in a bloodied heap, giving Jace an opening to enter the clearing.

The herd blocked Jace from his line of vision. He heard another scream. All his anger toward the girl dissipated in the heat of battle. Now all he felt was raw fear. Could it be already too late? Could she already be a meal? Or worse?

Jace pulled out his gun and began taking out the crowd. There were maybe ten lame brains clawing for Clary. It was a large number for anyone to take on alone and survive. Was Clary enough? He hadn't heard her voice in a while. Jace continued to shoot, lowering the number. 8…7…6…5…

There she was. The crowd had thinned enough that Jace was able to see a very pissed off redhead kicking away a rather persistent lame brain. Her gaze fell upon Jace.

"Well are you gonna stand there or are you gonna—"

He shot the undead attacking her before she could finish. Jace smirked and she let out a huff before rolling out of the crowd and managing to get to her feet. She faced the remaining lame brains with a stony glare, despite having no weapon in hand.

"Catch." From his belt loop, he pulled out Clary's stake, Mr. Pointy, and tossed it to her. She caught it gracefully with the barest hint of a grin on her face. The two zombies rushing towards her were disposed of with a quick jab. Gun in hand, Jace shot the last three with ease.

"Fancy shooting you got there," she muttered. The zombies in the clearing had been taken care of, leaving the two panting side by side. They awaited the incoming lame brains.

"Just giving you more of an excuse to check me out, I suppose," he replied smarmily. She rolled her eyes and stabbed an incoming lame brain. They didn't have time to wince at the _squelching_ sound it created, instead facing off against two more.

"Why are there so many?" He shouted to her above the noise of the angry lurkers and gun shots. She took a moment to answer, due to being in the middle of stabbing a lame brain with a strong arcing movement.

"The damn old bastards that trapped me in that net. Before leaving one of them poured something on the ground so they had more time to get away. It was probably blood," Clary growled. Now Jace could see the large crimson stain matting the earth. Whoever it was that the redhead had run into, they were smart. Every survivor knew that lame brains were attracted to the smell of blood. Some were even able to track humans for miles if they smelt or tasted enough of a person's blood. Just one of the many dangers the apocalypse had brought them.

"On your left." Clary called. Jace had the time to duck the outstretched arms of a biter and shoot it in the head. Out of the corner of his eye, he checked on the siblings. Both seemed to be holding their own. To his right, Clary yelled out in pain. His heart beat quickened and he turned. Clary had been fighting well until a lame brain had grabbed her by her tresses of hair. It pulled her closer roughly, suddenly inches away from tearing into her. He raised his gun to shoot, but was met with a hollow _click_. Out of ammo.

"Dammit," he hissed. In the future, when he would look back on that moment, he would remember it had happened too fast for him to truly take in the situation. He would remember the way his heart plummeted, but not how quickly the lame brain struck. He would always remember the fear in the girl's grass green eyes as they glistened with tears. He would never know what she was thinking of or who she was apologizing to, as all survivors did when they were seconds away from dying.

But where Jace stood, with an empty gun in his hand, the future was a long way away. Adrenaline pumped through his heart and blood poured into his muscles as he lunged for the lame brain holding Clary mere centimeters away. He slammed its back into a nearby tree. The glassy lifeless orbs of the corpse were now trained on him. It struggled viciously to tear into the arm Jace was using to restrain it. He tightened his grip on the barrel of the handgun he possessed before swinging the butt of it into the the lame brain's temple. It's decomposing skull sunk inwards with a resounding _crack_. Blood and other slimy juices squirted out, dripping down the length of Jace's arm. The lame brain stopped struggling for a moment before resisting weakly once more. Jace bashed its head in again, clenching his jaw.

He felt guilt. He felt like he should be the one getting his head bashed in. He felt pity for the man that had been just like him before the sickness spread. Whoever it was that was pinned before him had just had one bad day. That was all it took. He felt no pity for the monster it had become. He just longed for the world where killing wasn't a means of survival.

Too bad that world was gone.

There was a voice behind him calling his name. Somberly, he dropped the empty gun stained with blood to the earth and took a step backwards. He registered a close growling behind him when it was too late. Jace could smell the rotting flesh of a lame brain two inches away from him. He turned around just in time to see Clary, looking strong and determined, as she thrust her stake into the soft skull of the biter that had just been about to rip his throat out. She grimaced at the droplets of blood that splattered onto her face. Jace thought he had never seen someone look so good covered in blood and dirt. He rose an eyebrow coupled with a smirk.

"Ever notice that we make a good team?"

"We nearly died," she challenged with her arms crossed and an attitude that penetrated him with more force than the stake she held so fondly.

"Yeah, thanks for that by the way, little miss damsel." She shot him a fierce glare. The wave of zombies seemed to have subsided.

"I don't damsel," she protested.

"Was that before or after I found you hanging trapped in a net with a herd of lame brains waiting to _eat_ you?"

She huffed, clearly unamused.

"C'mon Clary, don't deny that we worked pretty well with each other." He was buzzing with adrenaline.

"Fine, Jace. Thank you so _very much_ for not allowing me to die a grisly death. Happy?" She seemed more annoyed with herself than with him. He could imagine why. The girl that saw everything in terms of survival would have died had she been left to fend for her own.

"We did it!" A cheer rang out from the other end of the clearing. Jace looked away to see the siblings running toward him excitedly. Dead bodies—the dead dead kind—were scattered along the earth. The smell was terrible, but it was a better alternative than lying with them. Before he could stop himself, Jace wondered how many had died so far in the apocalypse. Thousands? Millions?…Billions?

Despite the wave of sadness that had descended upon him, he faked a smile to the awaiting siblings and high fived Max. He couldn't allow himself to feel so much sorrow for the dead that he forgot about the living.

"Did you see us?" Max crowed. "We were epic! They just kept coming and I was like 'pachow in your face barf breath! Die.'"

Isabelle giggled at her little brother's animated reenactment and Jace found himself with a small smile upon his face. He barely knew them, but the two were growing on him.

A streak of movement caught his eye. In the midst of celebration, Clary had used the opportunity to begin her escape. Jace couldn't help but feel anger toward the girl who had only come into his life two days beforehand. No, she wasn't going to leave again. Not yet. He wasn't done with her yet.

His hand shot out and encircled her arm. She jumped in shock.

"So Clary," he spoke smugly from behind her. "Let's talk."

He told her he would find her.

* * *

 **It's honestly super weird posting these old chapters as I'm about 3/4 through writing the entire story because everything is so different. In a good way though 😏. I'm definitely looking forward to you guys getting to read the next few chapters now that the foreshadowing has already begun. Like always, I'll update in a week or after reaching 12 reviews (which is purposely high so that I don't burst through this story and post everything in a week). Thank you for everyone who is reading and reviewing and I'll see you next time!**

 **-Anika**


	4. The End of Innocence

**So, I don't think fan fiction sent out a notification when I posted the last chapter because it was pretty glitchy, so just make sure that if you didn't get it that you go back and read Chapter 3. But anyways, enjoy this next heartbreaking flashback in the meantime.**

* * *

"So," The man said to her with a warm smile. "Where were you the day everything went to hell?"

Clary let out a scoff and briefly paused her ferocious gnawing at the first morsels of food she had had in days—canned corn and beef jerky. Beside her, Jonathan let out the first laugh in days. The sound filled her with warmth, so much that she paused from her chewing (inhaling) to glance up at him. He was pale—paler than usual—with thick purple rings under his eyes and a clammy complexion. _He was just sick_ , Clary had repeated to herself, _the stress of the past few days had just impacted his health_. He would be fine tomorrow. And then the next day. And the day after that. And—

But now he was smiling sardonically at the middle aged man who had insisted on providing the two with refuge. Nobody had ever asked them that question before. Then again, most of those the two had run into lately hadn't been as interested in talking as they were in feasting upon their limbs and organs.

"Well, it all started when Clare here," Jonathan paused to ruffle her hair, like he knew she hated, "showed up on my doorstep, interrupting my beauty sleep, as you may have been able to tell, trying to get me to let her win at Mario Kart by claiming her snobby boyfriend proposed and then tried to eat her. _Women._ "

The man across from them—Luke, he had said his name was—looked upon her brother in an amused sort of confusion. Clary rolled her eyes at Jonathan, wishing she could slug him in the arm, but restrained herself. That was the arm that Simon had—that was the arm that was hurt.

"That is not how it happened, you boob," she spoke for the first time since entering Luke's camp. Luke's eyes widened at her in surprise, his bushy eyebrows rising.

"That's how I remember it," Jonathan sniffed, leering down at her. "You always were a sore loser. A zombie apocalypse is a small price to pay for you to save yourself the humiliation of defeat."

Clary wanted to laugh, to enjoy the first bit of banter she had had with her brother since _it_ happened, but she couldn't help but flinch at his blunt usage of the 'z' word. Before, they had enjoyed a silent agreement to not use the term. When they said it out loud, it would be admitting what they both knew was real. It would be admitting that there was no going back, that this was their life. It would be admitting that the wound on Jonathan's arm was more than just a bite from his sister's sociopathic ex-boyfriend.

Clary couldn't help but feel betrayed. What had changed that made him think he could break the rules all of a sudden? What would change next?

"After our first run in, we did what everyone did. Looked for family. Looked for friends. Tried to figure out what the hell was going on," Jonathan directled to Luke, more somberly this time. The reason was obvious. Despite looking for family, despite looking for friends, there were only two survivors sitting across from Luke. Even though the horrors were just beginning, Luke had enough sense to not pry further into the exact details. How Jonathan and Clary had stumbled to the house of their parents to find their father feasting upon their mother. How Jonathan had forced the sobbing mess of his sister into another room while he put their parents out of their misery. How the trauma had sent Jonathan into a frenzy in search of Tessa. A frenzy that had held no leads, but had directed them to Luke. How Jonathan was getting sicker.

Clary was grateful Luke didn't try to pry.

Instead, the man who had discovered her practically dragging a sobbing Jonathan away from the ruins of Tessa's car with no sign of Tessa had taken them in, fed them, and introduced them to his family.

While Luke sat with them around the crackling fire that illuminated the salt and pepper locks of his Paul Bunyon-esque beard and kind blue eyes, his sister—a pretty woman with dark hair and a sad smile—put her three nephews to bed. Luke must have caught Clary staring, as his entire demeanor brightened more noticeably than the flames between them.

"I couldn't imagine having to go through this alone," he murmured to them both. "We're the lucky ones. No matter how dark the world gets, I know that as long as my family is with me, the light will always overpower the dark. You both are lucky to have one another."

He looked back to his daughter, yet this time his eyes seemed haunted as opposed to the cheery optimism he had bubbled with from the moment they met him, mere hours ago. He shifted back to face them, gripping his mug tighter as his smile dropped. "Family is the most important thing now that any of us have. Family keeps us sane; it keeps us grounded. There are going to be a lot of folks who forget what it is like to trust and open their hearts. They are going to be looking out for their own survival without giving a damn about others. And it'll be easier. It's dangerous to love, but love is the only thing that will separate us from the demons."

He bit his lip, looking back at the stilling forms of his children, their mousy brown hair spilling out from beneath their blankets, before facing them again. "I imagine that we haven't even had a taste of the hard stuff yet. And, when that happens, I want people I trust around me. I don't trust loners who have forgotten what it is like to love, because I know if it came between the lives of my daughters or them, they would run. You two, however, know what it is like to care for others. It's rare that I've seen a bond between two people as close as yours. I'd be honored to invite the two of you to stay with us, if you'd like."

Clary paused, taken aback by his declaration. A home? Family? Trust? It all sounded so wonderful, so familiar even in a world where it seemed as if concepts such as those wouldn't—couldn't—exist. She turned her head to look at Jonathan, who looked as if he were about to faint. Had his breathing always been this shallow, she wondered? Or was it merely—

With a start, she realized where he was looking. At the wound on his arm. And now, Luke was looking at it too.

"You alright there, son?"

The statement was simple, concise. Clearly, he was much more on edge now than when he had just been offering them sanctuary, complete with food, shelter, family, supplies—

Supplies like medicine, Clary realized.

Jonathan bit his lip guiltily, looking as if he were about to say something, before Clary cut in, "around the time the world went to hell, animals were just as spooked as the people. We were running when a Pit bull bit him. Along the way, we've tried getting it looked at but…you can see why that'd be difficult for obvious reasons."

A moment passed between the three, with Luke looking back and forth between the two, before the apprehension faded from his clear blue eyes.

"Amatis!" He called behind him. "Can you fetch the medical supplies? This poor boy became a pup's chew toy along the way. Can't have our new additions getting an infection, can we?"

He looked back to the two with an easygoing grin as he led Jonathan over to where Amatis was collecting antiseptic and fresh bandages. Finally alone, Clary let out a breath. She had told a little white lie, but it would be fine. Jonathan would be fine.

Like Luke had said, family was important. Jonathan was her family. Jonathan was all that she had left.

But maybe, once he got better, they could find a new family here too.

* * *

It was dark outside when Clary found herself in Jonathan's tent, falling to her hands and knees by his side. His breathing was labored and sweat drowned out his features. Once goofy and handsome was now reduced to shaking and fearful.

"Jon," she whispered, reaching out a hand to feel his forehead. He caught her wrist in mid-air with a vice-like grip and slowly opened his eyes to look at her. Fear radiated off of him in waves. His eyes shone with unshed tears.

"You shouldn't have lied to them, Clare," he breathed roughly. "You and I both know what the truth is."

"Shut up, Jon," she murmured, wrestling her wrist free without much struggle. "You're just being a drama queen, like always. You're going to be fine, we're going to find Tessa—"

A gut wrenching sob tore through him. He looked up at her desperately, begging her with his eyes to see all the pain that lurked beneath.

"I—I never got to see her again," he croaked. "I never even got to say goodbye."

Clary was suddenly finding it hard to swallow.

"Shut up Jon," she ground out, pouring what was left of the water in her pouch onto an abandoned strip of cloth to blot his forehead. It was just the fever talking. They just hadn't cleaned his wound quickly enough and even Jonathan's stubbornness wasn't enough to keep off the infection. "When we find Tessa, I'm _so_ going to tell her about how sappy you became while she was gone. She'll find it hilarious."

Jonathan attempted a smirk as he struggled to hold her gaze, but it came out as more of a grimace.

"I think I'm dying."

Clary froze, utterly and completely froze, before forcing herself to continue furiously blotting Jonathan's forehead.

"No, you aren't, you big baby," She choked, because how else was she supposed to respond? How else do you respond to your brother, the one person who has never left, declaring his imminent demise? Delirious, that's what he was. When he got better, Clary decided, she would give him a pounding for scaring her like that.

"Clary." There was an urgency in his voice now, despite his frailty. He gripped the inside of her elbow, forcing her to look at him. "I need you to promise me that, if I don't make it, you'll keep fighting. That you'll be strong."

"Jonathan—"

"No!" He cried, tears now beginning to flow. "Clary, no. You _need_ to promise me that you'll do whatever it takes to survive, no matter what. I can't…I can't…"

Jonathan paused, taking in a shaky breath before once again looking her in the eye.

"I can't leave without knowing my little sister is okay."

Clary bit her lip, not wanting to play into his delusions because _he was_ not _going to die_ but also now unable to stop the raw burning lump lodged in her throat or the sick pounding of her heart.

"You've always protected me," she whispered, hating how weak and pathetic her voice sounded. "You can't leave. I can't just _abandon_ you and keep going on my own."

For just a moment, Clary let herself pretend that Jonathan wasn't going to be okay. That the rumors of the bite were real and she was losing her brother. Wave after wave of grief hit her at maximum force. She had never been alone before. As kids, Jonathan and her were attached at the hip. Even after he went to college, she was his frequent visitor. After Jonathan moved further away to be closer to Tessa, she found Simon, who quickly grew to support her. She had never been on her own. She had never had no one to rely on but herself. She had never _not_ had Jonathan. How was she, of all people, supposed to survive a zombie apocalypse on her own? She was thin and weak and didn't know how to fight. Her mother had never let her learn, instead pushing Simon at her.

Jonathan let out a heavy sigh, recognizing the internal panic clear upon her face.

"Clary, look at me," he croaked. She did as told without hesitation. "It doesn't matter if you're not hard enough yet, just that, if it comes down to it, don't listen to Luke. The world is changing and his idealism is going to get him and everyone around him killed. I may not be there to protect you, so you need to protect yourself and just focus on keeping yourself alive so that no one else can try to cut you down first."

"Jonathan," Clary breathed, beginning to come to her senses. "You are not going to die."

"But if I do," he spoke firmly, despite being barely able to move. "If I don't make it, listen to me, you need to _run_. Clary, you need to run and never look back."

In the days and then weeks and then months that would pass, Clary would think of a million things she could have said to him.

 _"I love you, Jonathan."_

 _"You were the best big brother I could have ever had."_

 _"I promise, Jon. I'm going to miss you so much."_

But no, instead Clary pursed her lips, hardened her gaze, and cleared her throat before saying, "you're not going to die, Jon. Now go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

 **So, I think it's important for me to remind you guys of the context this story is in with a literal apocalypse. Some of you seemed pretty surprised that Clary stole Jace's stuff, and Clary's actions in this chapter may also seem pretty bad, but you have to keep in mind that the world ended. When Clary stole Jace's stuff, she had already been hardened by tragedy and they live in a very survival of the fittest world. And here, where Clary chose to hide Jonathan's bite, it was still very soon after the apocalypse where they didn't have as much information about what would happen after one is bitten. The consequences of her choices will be examined throughout the course of this story, especially within the next chapter.**

 **Next chapter we get to go back to Jace confronting Clary and some great interactions with the characters. And then, the plot is really going to start picking up and we'll get to see a few more characters (you may be wondering why Alec isn't with Isabelle and Max) and some more info into Jace's backstory. So, basically, it's gonna start getting wild. I'm so excited for you guys to read what I've got in store for you.**

 **I'd really love to know what you guys think and what you specifically like/don't like etc.**

 **As always, thanks for reading and reviewing and I'll see you soon!**

 **-Anika**


	5. Scars

"So Clary," he spoke smugly from behind her. "Let's talk."

She immediately went rigid. The fear of death that had loomed over her moments ago had returned full throttle. Had it ever really left?

"Jace," she forced a chipper grin upon her face and turned back to face the boy who currently had her trapped in his grip, a satisfied smirk upon his face. "How are you? Oh, did you think, no, you see I didn't _leave_ , I was just out to repay the favor and hunt some food for breakfast when…"

She let out a sigh, taking in his rolling eyes and the background snickering of the two bratty siblings that had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

"Are you buying any of this or is there just no point in continuing?

"As interesting as it could be to hear how the hell you would talk yourself out of this, I'd rather not spend too long waiting for more lame brains to get a whiff of that blood."

Clary's eyes lit up, nodding her head quickly in agreement.

"True. Wouldn't want that. If you would just let me go, we could both be on our merry way before the next herd shows up." Her smile was sickeningly sweet while she attempted to free herself from Jace's grip. Clary frowned when he didn't release her.

"God, I wish we had some popcorn," muttered the elder girl to her brother. He nodded enthusiastically.

"I miss popcorn. And burgers. And nachos and—"

The girl cut him off with a gentle slap upon his head, turning their attention back to Clary and Jace. Jace pretended he was unaware of the commentary, instead keeping his gaze trained on her.

"Where's my stuff, Clary?"

She visibly flinched at the question, remembering the raw trust he had shown her when they had met and how she had betrayed him. She had stolen his stuff, only to have the stuff stolen from her and set up in a trap that he had saved her from.

She was so screwed.

Clary scanned the forest floor, examining routes of escape she could make. The pads of his fingers pressed into her bare forearm more firmly.

"Where is my stuff, Clary?" He repeated, more firmly this time. His eyes—dark and unwavering—connected with her own. She swallowed roughly.

"Gone," she breathed out. "The old bastards that trapped me and left me for dead took everything."

Jace's grip on her loosened just a fraction. He let out a breath, his eyebrows bunching together in fury. Clary swallowed, her eyes locking on the empty gun gripped tightly by his other hand. She had seen firsthand what he could do with that gun, even without the bullets. Her death surely would not be a pretty one.

She waited, bracing herself for impact, but Jace made no movement against her. He looked down, messy tendrils of hair obscuring his features. Finally, he looked up at her.

"What did they look like?"

Clary blinked, not expecting a response devoid of rage. Instead, he was nearly impossible to read, but his eyes betrayed an emotion that mirrored Clary's own. Fear.

"There were three of them. One woman, two men," she described lowly. "They…looked like old people. Wrinkles, grey hair, etcetera. I caught one guy's name—Hodge. He was more on the short, stocky side. The girl, there wasn't much anything distinctive about her. She looked like a nice grandma, but she was clearly the leader."

Clary noticed the siblings looking to one another in confusion at Jace's insistence. The girl with black hair that was shockingly and annoyingly devoid of tangles or twigs pursed her lips before adding, "They kept mentioning someone named Liam. They were saying things like 'remember what happened to Jem' and stuff. They stole _our_ group's supplies too. After that, well, we couldn't find our group or our brother Alec."

Jace's expression tightened, seeming to visibly pale. Clary raised an eyebrow at the reaction, but didn't get a chance to say anything before his gaze was once again on her.

"Sorry about this," he breathed, inches away from her face. "But I've got to make sure you don't run off again before we get a chance to catch up."

Before she could question him, she was spun around and there was a tight pressure around her wrists. Rope, she realized. Her heartbeat quickened and realization set in. She had escaped one trap only to end up in another. She wasn't sure which was worse.

"We have to move quickly," Jace said to the three of them. "We have to get as far away from here as we can."

The siblings nodded agreeably, the boy saluting him playfully. With a smirk, Jace leaned down to be level with Clary's ear. His breath was warm on her neck as he whispered, "I told you I'd find you."

* * *

Hours later, they had set up camp and felt it safe to rest for the night. Still bound, Clary was seated beside the warm glow of the campfire, glaring at the embers when she heard the familiar approaching footsteps of the current bane of her existence.

"You want something to eat?" He asked her. She kept her gaze on the fire, not daring to look at him.

"Who are we running from?"

She heard his breath falter above her. She smirked at the reaction, finally looking at him to see the brief flicker of surprise on his face.

"You know, Jace, I've realized that during our _party_ the other night, we didn't really get to go into _your_ dark past."

"Who says I've got one?" He challenged, lowering himself to sit across from her. She snorted, rolling her eyes.

"This is the _apocalypse_. Everyone's got one," she spoke matter of factly. "Besides, if you didn't, you wouldn't be so scared by whoever you think is coming after us. And, since you've so rudely involved me in your drama by tying me up, I have a right to know what it is we're running from."

He pursed his lips, taking in her biting retort silently.

"We're fine," he responded finally. "We're in no more danger than the normal amount."

Figuring she wasn't going to get anymore out of him, Clary sighed impatiently.

"Fine, then answer a different question for me. Why'd you care so much to hunt down and save some random girl who stole from you?" The question had been nagging her painfully. "Most survivors would have killed me, you know."

Instead of responding, Jace merely rose an eyebrow.

"Did you want me to?"

Clary didn't respond. She kept her expression neutral, impassive as her time around so much horror had trained her to.

"You reminded me of someone I used to know," he responded, breaking their silence. "That's why I came after you. I chose to save you, I chose not to kill you because that would be letting _them_ win. We may be in an apocalypse, but I'm going to survive by still being me and doing what's right. Otherwise, what's the point in surviving?"

Clary's expression widened, startled by his answer and the honesty in his gaze that was locked on her own.

"Who was it?" She asked eventually, feeling almost embarrassed. At his look of confusion, she continued, "Who was it that you said I reminded you of?"

He chuckled lowly without humor before replying, "She didn't steal from me, if that's what you were wondering. Only you were ballsy enough to try that. She was the most human girl I had ever met, so much so that she thought she was too far gone."

He paused, looking up at her with an intensity she found herself both drawn to and terrified by.

"But she wasn't," he concluded. Clary bit her lip.

"What happened to her?"

His expression darkened.

"What happens to everybody."

Clary knew the pain enough to not ask anymore prying questions about the girl Jace had once known. She had her own individual graveyard of ghosts that haunted her. Everyone did.

"Why did you leave, Clary?" He asked suddenly, interrupting the silence she had grown so accustomed to. She bit her lip, surprised at the familiar gnawing within her that she recognized as guilt. She didn't answer him, she couldn't. Mentally, she asked, _Why did you want me to stay?_ but she didn't dare say the question aloud. She wasn't sure if she wanted to hear the answer.

"Fine, then," he sighed and Clary couldn't help but frown at hearing the disappointment in his voice. "Different question, then."

"Oh goody," she remarked dryly. He ignored her, instead running his palms absentmindedly along the smooth base of Mr. Pointy and asked, "When did you realize that things would never get better? That there was no going back?"

Clary clenched her jaw, looking up at him coldly. Sensing her hesitation, he held up her beloved stake. "Just answer the question and I'll cut you loose."

Clary perked up at the offer, but still couldn't hold back her suspicion.

"Why is it so important to you?" She questioned instead.

He only rose an eyebrow. "Do you want to be cut free or not?"

Sighing, Clary bit back the insults that rested on her lips and instead forced her emotions back as the memories forced their way to the surface and words began to tumble from her lips. "During the first group I ever stayed with. Some—some _idiot_ brought someone bitten into the camp. Lied about it, thinking they were protecting everyone, that the rumors were a hoax, and that they would be fine."

Clary paused, leveling her gaze with Jace's.

"They turned overnight. Had a big ol' feast on the entire family that had so graciously let them stay, including three little girls. They couldn't have been older than ten. In the end, it wasn't the zombie to blame for their deaths. It was the girl who was too _weak_ to understand the reality of the new world that really killed them. She didn't deserve to be the one who lived."

Jace paused, taking in the story as the weight of it settled upon him. He looked at her in surprise.

"You still want to let me out of these restraints?" She spoke coldly, challenging him, wanting him to see what she really was. Why she couldn't have stayed with him. Because he was pure; good. She was a monster with a pulse that refused to quit. Jace walked toward her so deadly silent that she wondered if she had finally pushed him far enough, but the stake didn't touch her. Instead, the pressure around her wrists went slack. She brought her hands forward slowly, Jace still kneeling down before her, as realization sunk in. She was free. She could leave. But—

"You don't have to go, Clary," he spoke earnestly, surprising her. "You can stay. You may think that you're benefitting everyone by being alone, but you're not too far gone."

She shook her head slowly, backing away from him.

"You don't want me here, Jace. I'm not—I'm not you or that girl or whoever you want me to be so that you can prove that I'm still a _good person_ and earn a boy scout badge," she argued, bringing her arms up to her chest.

"Fine, you don't want to stay, then fine. I can't force you to see what I can see," he ground out. "But…just stay for a little while. We were planning on sneaking into the city to get to the mall for new supplies. We'll need all the fighters we've got and we've already proven we make a good team. And, as the one who stole my supplies in the first place, you owe me."

"That's a suicide mission." Clary shook her head. "The city is crawling with zombies. You won't make it five blocks, let alone _the mall_."

"I've done it before," he grinned back cockily. "Plus, that means other people haven't been able to get to it and there will be virtually unlooted supplies there. How far do you think you're going to get with only a stake and no cooking skills?"

Clary bit her lip, remembering how scarce the berries had been getting lately. She _was_ running low on options. Yet, the sound of laughter from one of the tents drew her back to reality.

"There's a reason you don't see kids anymore," she murmured, keeping her voice low so only Jace could hear her. "They don't last. They're too weak, too loud. Just being around one is putting us in danger."

Jace scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Well, if that's the case, I sure am glad you'll be there to protect me."

At that, he turned his back on her and began to walk towards his tent. She stared openmouthed at his retreating form until rage took hold of her.

"I didn't say yes!" She called out to him stubbornly. He paused, looking back at her with a smug grin in place. "Clary, I've seen you survive falling into a pit of hungry lame brains. I find it hard to believe that someone who is so good at surviving wouldn't be able to get out of a little rope. Trust me, you decided."

She paused, letting his words sink in before clenching her jaw. Jace, watching her reaction with amusement, continued, "Besides, you just can't resist the chance at spending more time with me."

She let out a snort. "In your dreams."

He gave her a once over, looking her up and down infuriatingly slowly. "Oh trust me," he spoke with a smirk. "You will be."

Before Clary could scream in protest, he added, "My offer from before still stands. My tent is always open if you want to join me."

" _Goodnight_ asshole," she bit out, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a retort.

"Sleep well," he returned, still grinning.

"We'll probably be dead by morning," they both finished.

* * *

After he disappeared behind the flap of his tent Clary remained. She clutched her knees to her chest and stared at the dying glow of the fire as her mind flipped through various scenarios of fight or flight, before eventually venturing into her own tent.

Only, she wasn't alone.

Her grip on Mr. Pointy tightened in her hand as she stared at the huddled mass in the corner before raising her stake, flipping over the body, and—

"What the hell, Max!" She shouted in a whisper at the young boy who had wandered into her tent. He stared up her with wide, vulnerable brown eyes. With a huff, Clary dropped the stake and ran a hand through her hair.

"What are you doing in here?" She questioned, looking down at the small boy expectantly.

"I had a nightmare and Isabelle is impossible to wake up. I was wondering if you could help me get to sleep," he explained innocently.

Clary frowned at the request. The boy was young, no older than ten with scrawny arms and wide, trusting eyes that didn't seem to fit into the new world they lived in. He looked fast and he was small, so he would be harder to catch, but with his lack of strength and broken glasses knocked askew, he would likely probably only last—

Clary stopped herself. No, she wouldn't calculate his survival rate. Not this time. This time…

Clary hesitated, looking down at the boy.

"Why me? I thought Jace was the nice one."

He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"I've _heard_ the comments he's made to you about his tent. Personally, I'd rather _not_ be in there at night." Max shuddered, looking thoroughly grossed out, before once again looking up at Clary. "Doesn't he know you have cooties? Or worse, what if he already caught them? I can't take the risk!"

Clary let out a laugh for the first time in…well, she didn't really know how long. With a small smile on her face, she lowered herself to the soft earth and grinned at the boy.

"You're a smart kid," she remarked. He beamed proudly at her.

"Can you tell me a story?" He asked.

She frowned, pursing her lips. "What, like Cinderella?"

He stuck his tongue out, making fake gagging noises. She rolled her eyes.

"Clary, come on. Seriously. That's a _girl's_ story. I'm a _boy,_ " he spoke, as if it should have been totally obvious.

Well then.

"Fine," she held her hands up in surrender, looking back at him as an idea formed in her head. "How…how would you like to hear a story about the time my brother, Jonathan, and I ended up convincing our entire school that he was a french exchange student named Sebastian?"

A wide, toothy grin appeared on the boy's face as he nodded quickly. Clary smiled, ruffling the Max's messy brown hair.

"Once upon a time, there was an idiot brother…"

* * *

When Clary walked out of her tent the next morning all eyes were on her.

"You stayed," Isabelle breathed, a knowing smirk upon her face. Clary shrugged, finding herself uncomfortable under the stares of the group.

"Yeah, well, it's only temporary. Just until we get supplies, then I'm out."

Jace, whose gaze hadn't left hers, shot her a smug grin.

"We'll see."

* * *

 **Yay, a less depressing chapter! So, at least at the present moment we've finally got our dearest Clary within a group and the next chapter we'll get to see them picking up again in plot development and action. And also, lots of Jace and Clary banter because that is just so fun to write. There are a lot of great** **Clace scenes in the next chapter actually. And a lot of you guys have been reviewing wanting to know more about Jace's backstory. All I can say is, soon. It won't be like Clary where we get it all immediately in flashbacks, but it'll definitely be worth the wait.**

 **And, that being said, I'm almost finished with Chapter 13 of about 16 chapters, so be sure to review to get them as soon as possible and tell me what you think! Thanks for reading!**

 **-Anika**


	6. Plan of Action

**I literally just updated this story, but you guys got to over twelve reviews insanely quickly and I keep my promises. I'm glad so many of you are enjoying this story! And in response to one reviewer who commented about how Clary isn't a damsel in distress in this story, that was very intentional. In the books, Clary isn't even a damsel in distress and while she doesn't have as much training, holds her own and saves Jace more than he saves her. She's not** **necessarily as tough as she is in this story, for obvious reasons, but I honestly don't understand why so many on this site feel it necessary to make Clary some fragile doll just so Jace can save her. You can be assured that in this story, and any future story I write, Clary will not be like that.**

 **Alright, rant over. Enjoy the chapter! You guys earned it!**

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As the four stood huddled by the tree line that served as a barrier between the protection of the forest and the no man's land of the city, Clary felt more vulnerable than she cared to admit. Though slightly obscured, she could still make out large clusters of slowly shuffling bodies among the streets of the city within view. Subconsciously, Clary gripped Mr. Pointy more tightly, allowing the cylindrical piece of wood to serve as her lifeline. The siblings were gazing at the large quantities of undead with wide, fearful eyes. Jace, on the other hand looked rather unperturbed by the sight. Clary clenched her jaw, casting a sour look in the direction of the man who had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

"Alright Mr. _I've done it before_ , I sure do hope you have a plan to get us through those zombies that I'm sure would be delighted to tear into the throats of anyone dumb enough to try strolling past," Clary muttered dryly.

"Relax, you'll be just good and dandy to carry on your fulfilling existence of a self pitying lonesome survivor in no time," he shot back with more malice in his tone than she had been anticipating. The siblings blinked, backing away slightly in case things turned ugly. Jace ignored them, instead gesturing Clary closer so that she could see where he was looking. At the bottom of the hill that separated them from the concrete jungle that lay ahead was a long ago rusted cast iron circle. A sewer grate. Everything clicked.

"Huh," she remarked. He smirked at her dumbfounded, yet impressed expression.

"Wait, I don't get it," Isabelle hissed. "What are we supposed to be getting?"

"That," Jace pointed to the grate, "is an entrance into the sewer system. Instead of going right through the city and most likely getting chomped to death by our friendly neighborhood carnivores, we're going to go under the city. And, luckily for us, there's another of these suckers right by the mall's back entrance."

Clary pursed her lips, scanning the area below. Only around five zombies were milling around by the grate, but there was no telling how many would pop up once they made their presence known.

"How easy is it to lift the lid? Aren't those things normally pretty heavy?"

He nodded. "Yeah, normally. This one's pretty loose though, so with enough prying it comes up alright. We'll definitely need at least two people to help get it off," he responded. "On the plus side, heavy means that it'll be hard for them to come and follow us. And it'll mean that there likely won't be many down there."

"But what if there are?" Max muttered, his skin pale.

Jace shrugged. "Well, considering we'd be shutting ourselves into closed quarters with a horde of bloodthirsty monsters, we die."

"Golly, Jace," Clary accentuated with a hand over her heart, "you really do know how to get a girl excited."

He smirked at her sinfully and winked. "It's worked for me so far."

She scoffed, focusing instead on the zombies. The five were nothing special. Typical vacant expressions, grotesque skin that rotted and peeled like a snake, their shredded clothes covered in blood. Two were missing arms and one had a screwdriver impaled in its neck. Clary wondered if whoever had put it there was now one of the zombies lurking below.

She frowned, imagining herself being forced to rot and lurk alongside her killer. The thought sent an icy shiver up her spine. By the amount the zombies had decomposed, she figured those below were some of the first unlucky bastards to die. Most likely they had been trying to get out of the city when shit hit the fan. They just never made it out.

"We're going to need to be ready," Clary murmured to the group around her. "These zombies are old and, since everyone knows that the city is a death wish, they're going to be _hungry_."

"So what do we do?" Max asked, looking up at her with wide eyes. Clary sighed and turned her gaze back on the scene below.

"Max, you and I will go first and start thinning them out. Stay close to me in case something happens and one of us needs help. Jace, Isabelle, you two will trail behind us and work on the grate," Clary replied.

"But there's only five of them," Isabelle said. "Couldn't we just all take them out together and then open the grate?"

Clary looked at her grimly. "Just because you don't see them doesn't mean they're not there."

Isabelle paled, looking down, before nodding. Clary shifted her gaze to Jace, who had been silent.

"Well, what do you think?" She suddenly felt self conscious. If something went wrong, if someone got hurt, it would be on _her_.

"I'm ready when you are," he responded simply. She nodded and turned to Max, who was looking down at the scene below, nervously rubbing his shoulder.

"Hey Max." He jumped in surprise and looked to her with wide eyes. "You're shorter than they are so I'm gonna let you in on a secret. If you kick the backs of their knees, they'll fall and then all you have to do is get them while they're down. Think you can do that?"

The boy nodded fiercely, putting on a tough expression that made Clary smile. She turned away from the boy, let out a breath, and, after tightening her grip on Mr. Pointy, began the descent down the hill. Max waited a moment before stumbling after her while Jace and Isabelle silently trailed behind the two of them. With every step, Clary felt her chest tighten. The zombies hadn't noticed her yet, but they would. And once they did, others would follow.

She had reached the bottom of the hill when behind her, a twig snapped. She heard a sharp intake of breath from Isabelle, but didn't look at her. Her attention was focused on the five zombies whose heads had swiveled and locked on the group. Clary smirked, readying her stake as they began to approach. A zombie with a frayed and bloodied trucker hat snarled at her, his one arm reaching for her her. Instinctively, Clary swung out her foot, catching the back of its leg and stepped out of the way as the still snarling zombie collapsed to the earth. Within a moment, Clary stabbed downwards into the vulnerable skull of her attacker.

The bone collapsed on itself with ease, more so than what she was used to, and doused her palm with grotesque juices. She wrinkled her nose, but didn't focus on the sickly smell that she had never gotten used to. Instead, she turned on her foot to spot Max, who had been watching her.

"Easy, huh?" She remarked, pointing a finger to the corpse at her feet. With a grin of confidence, the boy nodded profusely and tried the technique on his own approaching zombie. Satisfied, Clary turned to face on another monster, who moved more slowly than others she had encountered. She kicked outwards, sending her foot into the zombie's chest. However, instead of the zombie being pushed backwards as she had intended, her foot plummeted through its chest cavity. Her eyes widened. Immediately she attempted to pull her leg out of the zombie, who had remained unaffected by her kick and grabbed at her leg.

Clary breathed out sharply and, with both little time and options, swung her leg and the zombie attached to it into the trunk of a nearby tree. The impact was enough to free her leg and without wasting a second, she leapt to impale its skull.

There was rustling behind her. Clary turned quickly on her feet and ducked the awaiting arms of a zombie that clawed at her. It turned just as she quickly punctured the zombie, directly parallel to the screwdriver still impaled in its neck. The corpse dropped quickly. Clary turned to leave, but paused. With a frown and a shaky, adrenaline filled breath, she stooped to collect the screwdriver from the monster's skull.

"You alright?" A voice called to her. Clary spun, turning to see Jace's eyes on her from his crouched down position by the grate. His eyes were filled with concern as he scanned her for injuries, the foreign gesture immediately making Clary feel out of her comfort zone. Before she could think more into the gesture, she shot him a quick nod.

"Max, are you— _oh shit!_ "

A booming growl came from the highway as a large herd of zombies had grown aware of their presence.

"Jace, Isabelle, how close are we?" Clary shouted, quickly rushing over to cut down the zombie keeping a shaking Isabelle busy with a quick jab. She gave her a grateful smile which Clary ignored, quickly gripping the girl's wrist and scooping her over to where Jace and Max were.

"Almost…got it! Clary, you go first. Max and Isabelle will follow and I'll come from behind," Jace grunted, his voice strained. Clary nodded quickly and dropped to the ground, prepared to scramble down the hole when Jace captured her wrist. "Be careful."

"No time," she breathed, before plunging into darkness.

She fell quickly, her only source of light coming from the grate's opening. She landed with a splash. Sewer water coated her and, despite being already covered in zombie guts, she cringed at the smell.

Two other splashes came shortly afterwards, followed by a larger splash and darkness as the others joined her. They were officially sealed inside. Through small pinpricks of light that came through the grate, Clary could still make out the basic shapes of the others, but they would be completely in darkness further on in the tunnels. The thought made her skin crawl.

"Ew," Isabelle scowled, immediately plugging her nose. "This place smells worse than Max's feet."

The boy smirked back at her, though Clary noticed it seemed to lack his usual vigor.

"Everyone okay?" she asked, squinting at the others through the darkness. The three nodded. With a sigh of relief, Clary turned to examine what she could make out of their surroundings.

"No zombies, no discarded dead bodies, no flushed alligator," Clary checked off on her fingers. "I gotta say Jace, as much as I hate to admit it, this plan of yours doesn't completely suck."

"Always the tone of surprise," he muttered darkly, though Clary could clearly see the satisfied smirk on his lips. She shrugged noncommittally before turning to the dark expanse before them.

"If we can't see anything, how are we supposed to know if there are any dead things?" Max asked quietly, nervously looking at the darkness.

"Well, I imagine we'll know when they start ripping into our flesh," Isabelle stated with an air of nonchalance. Max crossed his arms, glaring up at her with more ferocity than either Clary or Jace would have expected.

"That's not funny, Izzy," he snapped. Her shoulders sank, resembling a kicked puppy.

"Both of you, knock it off," Clary growled, massaging her temple. "Jace, now would be a good time to jump in with how we're supposed to make it through this tunnel stumbling around like a couple of blind mice."

He nodded, pulling out a small lighter from his back pocket and ducking down to pick up a lantern resting by the ladder they had come in from.

"Like I said," Jace murmured as he lit the lantern, illuminating the group. "I've done this before."

Clary nodded, ignoring Jace's knowing smirk whilst trying to conceal her own approval.

"Alright Superman, lead the way."

* * *

The four spent the majority of their trek in silence. Jace took the lead, guiding their way with their only source of light and his seemingly endless knowledge of the underground sewer system. Max and Isabelle had been quick to stick close to Clary, for reasons that were entirely unknown to her, and at every slight noise they came across, the two shuffled nearer to her. Clary had no clue how to react to the sudden display of affection.

To their left, the sound of shuffling water reverberated across the tunnels. Immediately, Max clutched onto Clary, earning an eye roll from the girl.

"I thought I was the mean one," she groaned, pointing a finger towards Jace. "Why aren't you clinging onto him?"

Jace paused from his navigating to turn back and smirk at her. She promptly responded by sticking her tongue at him as Max matter of factly responded, "Easy. We like you."

"Plus, you're a total badass. If anything comes to try to eat us, our chances are way better around you," Isabelle added enthusiastically.

Jace's amused grin dropped. He shot a playful glare to the two.

"Traitors," he hissed.

Clary let out a laugh before freezing up entirely. She pushed the siblings behind her and reached for her stake as she screamed, "Jace, behind you!"

Before he could turn, a zombie had grabbed him, dragging him backwards into the water.

"Jace!" She screamed, her heart clenching.

"Oh my god," Isabelle breathed. "What do we—"

"Isabelle, I need you to hold the lantern and make sure to make sure we can see," Clary ordered, unsheathing Mr. Pointy without a glance behind. She dove into the brown water where Jace was struggling and splashing and, as it appeared, losing. Weaponless and defenseless, Jace struggled to push the zombie away from him, paying extra attention to its snapping jaw, but he was being quickly overpowered. Jace was slipping and his once carefully controlled emotions betrayed him, broadcasting true fear.

As it was about to tear into his neck, Clary ripped the zombie off of him, poised to strike with her stake in hand. The zombie lunged at her with an uncharacteristic display of cognizance, forcing her back to hit the wall and Mr. Pointy to fall to her feet. Her eyes widened and she let out a shaky breath before narrowing her gaze. She kicked outwards. While the zombie stumbled back Clary dropped to collect Mr. Pointy. She had just enough time to look up before—

"Clary, look out!"

The zombie grabbed hold of her fiery curls, pulling her closer. She grit her teeth, fought back the pain and arced her stake backwards. The monster that towered above her stilled in its grappling, stumbling backwards into the water. Her heart thudded in her chest as she thrashed, but failed to release herself. She sucked in a greedy breath of air before being submerged underwater. The zombie continued to sink, gravity working to collect its prize. Clary made quick work of tearing the creature's leftover grip off her hair, freeing herself. Her gaze zeroed in upon the stake still lodged in the quickly sinking zombie's eye. At the depth the zombie was sinking, it would be a miracle for her to retrieve her stake and survive. The girl forcefully tore her gaze from the monster's form as another force violently grabbed hold of her, ripping her upwards to the surface.

She choked, coughing heavily and sucking in much needed air. A hand gently pat her back, helping her cough the filth ridden water from her lungs and bringing to her attention the one who had so frantically raised her from perdition. Jace watched her worriedly, distress clearly visible within his wide, amber eyes. She held his gaze, unable to look away. Clary hadn't even realized he was moving them until their bodies collided with the concrete walkway they had been walking along before Jace had been attacked. In her stupor, it took a few moments to register Jace's lips moving, muttering words that were lost on her.

"What?" she asked, fighting against the numbness consuming her.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did it—"

Clary shook her head, looking brokenly back to the spot where the zombie had succumbed.

"Clary, are you okay?" Jace repeated, shocking her with his fierce display of concern. She winced from the tight grip he held on her shoulders, no doubt leaving finger shaped bruises across her skin. She looked at him with open vulnerability, her eyes wide and wet.

"I lost Mr. Pointy."

The worry immediately faded from his tight lipped gaze and he released a small chuckle.

"Better than ending up bitten."

She frowned at him.

"I really liked that stake."

Jace looked at her, appearing as if he had something to say, but whatever it was Clary didn't get to hear it. As soon as the two were in reach of the walkway, both her and Jace were engulfed in hugs from the siblings.

"Oh my god, that was so close!" Isabelle breathed out, her skinny arms encircling them both.

"Did you see that? She was like _wham_ and _boom_ and he went like _gaaaaaaaah_ dead!" Max enthused, jumping up and down as he animatedly reenacted the fight. Clary smiled softly, pausing briefly before returning Isabelle's gesture. Her gaze then landed upon Jace, who was quietly scooping up the lantern that Isabelle had discarded at their arrival. The light was just barely flickering.

"You okay?" She asked. He turned to look back at her and nodded.

"Thanks to you, I'm fine," he responded. "Thanks for that, by the way."

Clary shrugged. "Guess we're even now."

He breathed out a laugh, though Clary noted it came out shaky and forced.

"Yeah, I guess we are." He tore his gaze from the girl and took out his lighter once more, flicking the ignition with his thumb to no avail. He sighed, discarding the lighter into the water behind him.

"Well, the lighter got fried when I went into the water, so hopefully that was the only chomper because we have to walk the rest of the way without light."

"How much farther is it?" Isabelle asked, not sounding particularly excited about the idea of being in complete darkness with zombies lurking.

"Not far, a couple hundred feet or so. Just stick close to each other and try not to make too much noise and we should be fine. At least if we can't see them, that means they can't see us either," Jace responded, though Clary noted that his sense of optimism seemed forced.

"They can still smell us," Clary muttered.

"Well, if we have any problems, its good to know that we have our very own superhero to save the day," he shot back, his voice further away now that he had begun to walk. Clary sighed, ushering the siblings to go ahead of her before following.

"You better not make me regret losing Mr. Pointy for you," she grumbled, not liking the feeling of loss that consumed her every time her arm brushed against her side, expecting to feel a stake that wasn't there.

"Ah c'mon Clary, we all know you can't resist me."

Even in pitch black darkness, she could sense the cocky smirk residing on his stupidly smug face.

"Oh no, you must have hurt your head during the fall," Clary responded, her voice leaking with faux concern. "You're obviously delusional."

"Yeah, well—"

"Will both of you shut up! I don't want to die because you two couldn't stop flirting!" Isabelle hissed. Max's snort was immediate. Clary was suddenly very grateful for the darkness, as the immediate blush that immediately stained her cheeks would have been even more mortifying than being told off by a girl surviving the zombie apocalypse in six inch heels.

"Its alright Izzy, we're here. I'm going to climb up first and make sure the coast is clear. After that all we have to do is walk a couple feet to the back door."

Before the others could respond, the golden haired man had already made his way up the ladder. At that point, Clary was just hoping there was a shower somewhere in the mall. Zombie guts were one thing, but total submersion in sewer water took her stink to a whole new level. She would never live it down if she was snuffed out by the undead because they could smell her from three miles away.

Light filtered in through the tunnel as Jace pushed open the sewer grate, instantly filling Clary with joy. She had been itching to gets out of the tunnels from the moment they had entered. Jace's head disappeared, only to pop back in a moment later.

"All clear. Ready to go shopping?"

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 **I was so close to leaving this chapter on a cliffhanger and stopping when Jace was attacked, but I decided to be nice. Plus, there's a cliffhanger next chapter and then the chapter after that and then the chapter after...anyways, enjoy this non cliffhanger while it lasts. As always, thank you for reading and be sure to review and let me know what you think! You guys really seem to like the quieter Clace moments full of banter, so you'll definitely love the next chapter. And we get our first taste of Jace's backstory...**

 **-Anika**


	7. The Boy in the Photo

**I don't know why but I kept forgetting to post this chapter. Like, its been ready for a while I just...kept...forgetting...that I hadn't...published it. My brain is so annoying. Last night I forgot to eat dinner. I'm problematic. Enjoy the chapter!**

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"Where have you been?" Jace's voice came from behind where Clary stood, observing the mall from the balcony. She turned to face him, leaning against the railing.

"Took a shower in the gym that's connected to the mall and picked up a couple pairs of clothes not coated with six layers of sewer water and zombie intestines," she replied, pointing to her wet hair and new set of clothes. "And you?"

"Pretty much the same, except I knew there was a shower with actual warm water in the employee's quarters. Figured I might as well, since I doubt there's much chance of pulling Isabelle away from the shoes."

Clary nodded, remembering the jarring sight of Isabelle and Max rushing off to shoe and manga stores respectively, weapons strapped across their back. There was something poetic about the scene.

"So…where to? Since you seem to know everything about this place. Weapons store?"

Jace rose an eyebrow at her.

"Why do you automatically assume there's a weapons store in a mall?"

Clary shrugged. "Because this is America. Coffee and guns are about the two easiest commodities to find."

Though on afterthought, she imagined that when the apocalypse had first begun and stores were being viciously ransacked for supplies, more would have tried to get their hands on guns than a cup of Starbucks. Jace smirked at her response.

"Luckily, you're right. But first, come with me."

Clary frowned, staring at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"Just trust me and come on." He rolled his eyes at the stubbornness in her gaze.

"Why won't you just tell me where you're planning on taking me?" She shot back, crossing her arms. He sighed in frustration at her lack of cooperation.

"On my way over here, I passed by a salon."

Clary couldn't help her mocking tone as she cooed, "Aw Jace, did you want to get matching pedicures?"

His glare only added to her amusement. However, his next words caused her smile to fall. "Back in the field, one of the lame brains almost got you by grabbing your hair. Then in the sewers, you had another close call when the lame brain grabbed your hair and dragged you under. One of these days, your hair's going to end up getting you killed."

"I don't like where you're going with this," Clary muttered grimly.

"We need to cut it."

"Yup. I knew I wasn't going to like this," She groaned.

Jace shrugged. "Better than ending up dead."

Clary bit her lip, reenacting the entirety of the fights within her mind. She could still feel the phantom pain in her scalp from her most recent battle. She remembered the way her heart had stopped cold in her chest and fear had taken over. Though she hated to admit it, the past few days hadn't been the first times a zombie had nearly gotten her by grabbing on to her hair. She just tended not to think too hard about _how_ she survived as long as she survived. Slowly, Clary looked back up at Jace's awaiting gaze.

"Fine."

Jace nodded, satisfied, and motioned for her to follow him. Though she could feel pinpricks of dread bubbling up within her, she complied and begrudgingly trailed after him. She silently prayed that she didn't regret letting her newfound companion so close to her neck with scissors.

Ahead of her, Jace made his way through the mall confidently, not even bothering to check his surroundings for zombies or pausing to remember which way to go. His behaviour instantly struck Clary as peculiar.

"Jace—"

Before she could finish, he stopped abruptly.

"We're here," he said, staring at the deserted salon. He strolled confidently inside, making his way to one of the empty work stations. Clary followed more slowly behind him, her eyes jumping from the large stains of blood among the numerous chairs to the shattered bottles of nail polish and broken, bloodstained hairbrushes. Finally, her gaze settled on something behind Jace.

"Jace, behind you!" Her hand subconsciously went reaching for her stake only to be reminded of the nakedness she felt as there was only a pocket of air.

"That's just Phyllis. She's been here and…taken care of for a while," Jace responded nonchalantly without glancing at the decaying corpse who rested a few chairs to his right, with curling pins still in her hair and a large blood stain pooled at her feet, resulting from her torn open stomach and ripped out intestines. The blood had long since dried and cracked.

"Trust me, the only thing lurking in this shop is you," Jace spoke with a grin in his eyes. Holding up a comb and a pair of scissors, he gestured to the chair beside him that had a few rips and tears, but luckily no blood. "You gonna stand there all day or are we gonna get this over with?"

Clary rolled her eyes, but did as asked without her usual biting remarks. She figured that if she was going to get the answers she wanted, she had to play nice. Clary tensed as his hands worked their way through her hair, brushing up against her skin. _Breathe_ , she told herself, forcing her muscles to relax and her suddenly foggy mind to clear. A few moments passed and she looked at him through the cracked mirror. His brows were furrowed in concentration, examing the instruments that had been left over.

"You're hiding things," Clary murmured.

Without pausing from his work, he raised a brow. "Am I?"

Instead of allowing him to frustrate her as she knew he wanted, Clary continued. "Yes, you are. Like how you have more of a history with this mall than you are willing to admit."

"And why," Jace spoke without betraying a sliver of emotion, "would you think that?"

"You know this mall like the back of your hand, even that there was a shower in the employee quarters. You strut around like you own the place, and unless the zombies have started wearing name tags, I can't imagine how you knew that thing's name was Phyllis."

Clary could see the slight tightening of Jace's jaw from the reflection in the mirror. He paused from his cutting to meet her gaze in the reflection.

"What are you accusing me of, Clary?" His tome came out much harsher than she had anticipated.

"I'm not _accusing_ you of anything," she replied, matching the coldness of his tone. "I just don't like secrets and, given the fact that you know the dirty details of my backstory, it's only fair for you to return the favor."

He frowned, briefly looking away from her to the mall outside, before sighing.

"My dad was the head of security here back…before. I spent most of my time here when I was a kid, hoping to be just like him. My dad was getting sick, so I took some time off from school to take care of him. It just so happened that the apocalypse had ideas of its own. I was here when it all went down. There were a few run ins, like with Phyllis, but most people were trying to evacuate the city like the military told them to. Didn't work out too well, for them at least. Made it pretty easy for me to slip in and out as I pleased."

Clary swallowed, unsure how to respond. Not knowing if Jace even wanted her to say anything. His gaze hadn't been on her as he spoke, but far away. Without giving her a chance, he returned to cutting. Clary had thought that the rest of their time together would be spent in silence, but Jace always seemed to prove her wrong.

"Alright, I've answered your question, now you have to answer mine." He seemed to have regained some of his usual smugness. She scoffed.

"I already did my fair amount of share time, if you don't recall."

Jace shrugged. "Not my fault you talk too much. You still have to answer the question. Then, maybe if your answer is satisfactory, I'll let you ask me another question."

"You're an ass," Clary spat.

Jace seemed to take this as a yes.

"How come you didn't hesitate to save me back in the sewers? For someone who's top priority is survival, putting yourself at risk seems kind of against the point."

Clary rose an eyebrow.

"Did you think I wouldn't?"

"No, actually."

The girl paused, feeling guilt gnawing at her without understanding why. The raw honesty of their conversation was immediately seeming like a bad idea. Reflexively Clary remarked, "yeah, well, if I had known that I would lose Mr. Pointy by saving you maybe I would have reconsidered."

Jace looked at her curiously. "That brings me to my next question. Why is that stake so important to you?"

"Whoa whoa whoa," Clary cut the blonde off with a fierce glare. "I didn't get to ask you a question. You can't cut!"

"You already did," Jace argued with a cocky grin that she wanted to smack off of him. "When you asked if I thought you wouldn't risk your life to save me. Not my fault you suck at asking questions."

The redhead glared at him, wanting to argue, but ultimately not wanting to give him the satisfaction. She pursed her lips tightly and responded lowly, "it was my brother's. When Jonathan started getting worse, he carved it with his knife to distract himself from the pain. It saved my life when he wasn't around to."

Clary avoided his gaze, feeling far too vulnerable for comfort and not wanting to see the look of pity he would undoubtedly offer.

"I'm sorry, Clary. I shouldn't have asked."

"No," she responded. "You shouldn't have."

A part of her knew she was being unfair. He had shared his story. Her sob story wasn't even the worst the apocalypse had to offer. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to apologize. She could only sit in silence until the cold blade of the scissors and the warm touch of Jace's hands disappeared. She looked up.

"Done," Jace said as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. "Now all we have to worry about is you getting yourself killed for non hair related reasons."

"That's much more comforting," Clary remarked dryly, taking in the short curly red locks that stared back at her, longer than a pixie cut but not by much. At least, Clary thought, she wouldn't have to pull apart so many tangles with her fingers.

"So where do you—"

Her words were cut off by the sound of a piercing howl coming from somewhere in the mall. Jace dropped the scissors he had been holding and ran from the salon with Clary following quickly behind.

"Do you know where he is?" She asked, her tone frantic.

"No," he called back to her. "But I know where we can find out."

The two picked up speed until Jace's wrist shot out, pulling Clary with him into a well hidden, almost overlooked alcove with a single door at the end. The golden locked man ahead of her nearly ripped open the door, ushering Clary inside before quickly making his way to a panel of tv screens that seemed to show every corner of the mall. Clary walked further inside what she realized was the security room before pausing. Her eyes locked on to a large stain of blood in the middle of the room, a gun beside it but no body. At the top of the stain, like a grave marker, lay a photograph of a small golden haired child with a toothy grin, displaying a chipped tooth, as he smiled at a man who looked nearly identical. The resemblance was uncanny. A new wave of sorrow washed over her, only this time it wasn't for her own.

"Do you see where they are?" Jace called out urgently, bringing Clary back to the present. She tore her gaze away from the blood and scanned the screens.

"No, I…wait, is that him in the Victoria's Secret?" Jace immediately looked to the screen that showed a lithe man with ebony hair and a tattered grey sweater, just older than them, running frantically through the Victoria's Secret with a zombie on his heels.

"Crap," Jace muttered. "Look at the camera outside the mall. If that guy doesn't shut up, every lame brain in the city is going to be surrounding us."

"Okay, so let's get down there and shut him up," Clary spoke, again reaching for the stake that was no longer there. Jace wasn't looking to her, however, but at something else. And whatever it was, he looked spooked.

"You go after the girl. There's something else I have to take care of," he muttered, not giving her a chance to respond before brushing past her towards the door.

"Wait, Jace!" She hissed. "Where the hell are you—"

But he was already gone.

* * *

 **And thus begins the very first of a long series of cliffhangers to come. It's going to be really fun guys, I promise. Well, at least until chapter...nah I won't spoil it. Anyways, I'm so excited for you guys to get the next chapter because that is a HUGE one where the plot finally begins to develop and we get to see some more characters. You might have recognized one that made an appearance at the end ?.**

 **So, what do you guys think of the beginning of Jace's backstory? And what do you think has him so spooked? I'd love to hear your ideas and any general thoughts you have on the story so far! (plus the more you review, the faster I can post the next chapter).**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **-Anika**


	8. 50 Shades of Red

**Following the shooting in Parkland and the amazing marches and displays of student activism, I wanted to reconsider some aspects of violence within these next few chapters involving guns. I took a break to consider whether to edit these portions, but ultimately chose to include them as written due to the fact that it is heavily stated this is not an ideal state of the world in the apocalypse. Instead of omitting these portions entirely and taking away some of the realism that I view would occur in such an apocalypse, I instead am leaving this note so as to encourage any of my readers to think critically within the story's context.**

* * *

The screaming was the anthem that spurred Clary's muscles to action racing to its source. Her blood was pumping, her lungs were screaming, but her thoughts were the torturous ones. Where had Jace gone? What was he keeping from her? Could she trust him?

And then there was her most present crisis.

What awaited her within the dripping pink walls of her destination?

She allowed for this current predicament to take over and, as the soles of her sneakers scraped across the linoleum floor panels, the momentum of her body sent her stumbling to a less than graceful halt. She felt relieved that among all the questions she had yet to receive answers to, at least this one could be put to rest.

Clary paused, taking in the broken shop windows and tattered, blood stained lingerie thrown around the store's entrance. Wall sized posters of bikini clad models hung torn and limp, coated with a red that Clary knew was not paint.

Off in the woods, it was easier to forget the scope of all the apocalypse had touched and destroyed. It was now, while wondering how the once mundane could have succumbed to the new world, Clary truly realized there was no escape. There was nowhere to hide. There was no 'someday' or 'elsewhere' or 'after'. There was only this and this was pain.

"Clary?" A soft voice addressed her warily, startling her. She tore her gaze from the display, coming face to face with Isabelle. Her brows furrowed, taking the girl in.

"What are you doing here?"

"Same thing you are, unless you just felt like scoping out some cute bras. I came to find the source of the screaming," she matched Clary's harsh gaze as she spoke, as if daring her to send her away. She didn't.

Clary nodded to the store, which was a blend of pink and red."C'mon then."

The two girls stepped in tune cautiously amongst the discarded mannequins and heaps of clothing. Out of the corner of her eye, Clary noticed Isabelle looking longingly at a pile of merchandise, as if thinking of before. Clary spoke nothing of it, deciding to allow the girl her moment.

"How do you do it?"

Isabelle was looking back at her with wide brown eyes full of sorrow and what appeared like envy. It was enough to shock the redhead into a response.

"Do what?"

"Survive," she breathed, as if the words were a revelation to even her. "You're so…accustomed to this world. Ever since all this shit happened, all I've been able to think about is how much I miss my room, or how much I miss having my thoughts revolve around boys and annoying my brothers instead of weapons and blood."

Clary's expression was impassive as she looked ahead, scanning the room for any sign of threat.

"I lost everything that held me to my old life, and when you lose those ties, you lose who you were. Be grateful you don't know what that's like, and pray you never find out."

Isabelle was silent afterwards, though, whether it was from the coldness of Clary's words or from the rustling up ahead, Clary would never know. Both girls immediately straightened, locking their jaws and turning to the source of the noise. Though the screaming had stopped, now that they were closer, they could pick out the distinct sound of whimpering.

"They're alive," the dark haired girl breathed, a touch of a smile upon her face. It was now as they edged forward that they could also pick out the sound that had haunted both of the girls's nightmares. The sound that neither would ever forget, no longer how much time past. It was neither a growl nor a moan, but rather something inbetween. Something that had its own flavor, its own distinct pierce as it rang and groaned like the choking of a faulty engine, the churning of gravel and glass, and the desperate squeals of those trying desperately to hang on to life.

It was the sound of death; it was the sound of a life that was taken, just as they too could be taken at any given moment. It was the sound that they would one day hear, suspended above their tired, broken bodies just before they are ripped into and torn apart. It was the sound of a pair of zombies clad in pink lingerie as they slammed their decaying, grey bodies into a dressing room door, where the source of the boy's whimpering could be heard.

But more than that, it was the sound of excitement, as they had just spotted two new prey and were out for blood. It took them little more than a second to abandon the boy and release a throaty screech, charging. The beasts had crossed half of the distance to reaching the girls when Clary reached for her stake, only to again be reminded of its absence.

"Shit," the redhead muttered. She had but a moment to twist away from the desperate claws of her attacker.

"Got any spare weapons?" Her voice was strained and laced with panic. She pushed a shelf display into the leaping form of her zombie. The diversion gave her enough time to chance a glance towards Isabelle. The dark haired girl was attempting to fight off her own assailant with a plastic pink hairbrush. Clary groaned, inwardly cursing the mystery boy tucked away safely in the dressing room. She sprung backwards as the zombie lunged, blocking its attack with a nearby mannequin. It stumbled for only a moment.

"Rule number 16," Simon had once told her as they watched (and made out to) some dumb zombie movie two weeks into their relationship. "If you want to survive in the zombie apocalypse, you can't always rely on a weapon. You have to know how to use your surroundings."

A fat load of good his monster movie obsession had done him when the time came. As for Clary, it was about to come in handy.

She had only a moment, but that was all she needed to scan the scraps of clothing lying around her. She knelt down to swipe up what looked to be an extra extra extra large bedazzled sports bra, just as the monster above her descended. Mangled chunks of blood soaked blonde hair flashed wildly in Clary's vision. _That's a shitty way to die,_ Clary thought idly, taking in the bra and pantie clad zombie straddling her. The girl felt a stab of pity for her attacker. This empathy was immediately cancelled by the blonde arcing her neck to rip into her flesh.

Clary shot up, wrapping the sports bra around the thing's neck like a muzzle. Her opponent clawed viciously at her wrists, emitting an animalistic howl. The redhead took the opportunity to kick out, sending the zombie crashing into a nearby underwear display. Lacy thongs rained down on it while Clary leapt to her feet. She didn't hesitate, plunging her foot into the it's skull. There was a screech, and then a crunch. Clary wasn't satisfied.

She brought her blood stained boot back up, ignoring the squelching suction noise that the action emitted. She did it again. And again.

The body below her had stilled.

She brought her foot up once more, prepared to strike again.

Blood leaked and oozed around the corpse. Clary's face softened at the scene, and the familiar crimson shade that stained her new jeans in what would be the first of many new stains to come. She couldn't tell what blood belonged to the zombie and what belonged to her. She paused. _No matter how different I am from these monsters, we still seem to bleed the same_ , she thought, feeling suddely cold. Dead or alive, their lives all revolved around the same shade of red.

She lowered her foot just as a yelp sounded from her left.

Isabelle.

In the seconds that Clary had been occupied with the blonde, the other zombie—also blonde—had been gunning for her shell shocked companion. Fear emanated from the girl, whose hairbrush weapon was now uselessly impaled in the zombie's eye socket. She was a helpless prey. Weak, defenseless, terrified. No doubt, her predator's favorite kind.

"Izzy, snap out of it!"

The taller girl didn't look at her, but her dark eyes hardened. Clary barely had time to blink before Isabelle struck her heel clad foot out and threw all her might into one kick. Clary winced, recognizing the outcome before it happened. Her heel sank within the monster's chest cavity, bones and guts splitting and pulsing from the wound. The force knocked the zombie to the ground, nearly taking Isabelle with it. Her attacker thrashed, clawing upwards and pushing violently against the force keeping it pinned. Its arms grasped for her roughly.

"Clary," Isabelle looked up at her, dark eyes wide with the same panic that laced her voice. "My shoe is stuck."

As if to demonstrate, she attempted to pull her bloodied foot out once more, though it was too tangled up in burst arteries and muscle tissue to escape. Clary strode over to the girl within two bounds and dropped to the floor next to her other foot. She looked up at the girl above her.

"That thing's not going to be held forever. I need your other shoe."

"Okay," Isabelle relinquished, allowing Clary to slip off her five inch stiletto. "But why—"

The girl emitted a choked gasp as Clary snapped the heel off. The redhead paid her no mind, stepping over the beast below. She held the heel in her grip, prepared to strike, before pausing. Clary turned to Isabelle.

"You do it."

Dark eyes widened, flickering between her and the corpse at her feet. "Me? I don't—I can't—"

"Izzy!" Clary's voice was firm. "That thing won't hold much longer. You can do this. You _will_ do this. But you've got to do this _now_."

The raven haired girl let out a breath before nodding, taking the heel from Clary. She curled her fingers around the base and struck viciously right between the eyes. Clary blinked, taking in the scene with crossed arms.

"Nice work," She nodded, earning a smile from Isabelle. With an unsteady breath, the girl's eyes narrowed on the still beast and pulled once more. Strings of cartilage and veins clung to her crimson foot. With a snarl, she flung her bloodied shoe off, now standing before Clary bloody, bare, and grinning. Alive.

As if realizing something, she turned to the redhead.

"You called me Izzy."

Clary hesitated, unsure how to respond. She swallowed, rubbing the back of her neck, and feeling the shocking lack of hair that came with it. "I…uh…yeah. I guess I did. Sorry, I—"

"No," The girl stopped her, the beginnings of a smile working upon her face. "Don't apologize. It's just that…my friends used to call me Izzy. You know… _before_."

Before. The word held so much weight. As if within those two syllables, it contained within it all of the happiness of a billion lifetimes.

"Well, I guess we're friends, aren't we?" Clary inwardly cursed, feeling stupid and ridiculous the moment the words tumbled from her lips. She was such an idiot and she knew what happened to friends and what the girl's life expectancy was bound to be and—

She paused her inner ramblings at the wide grin that split apart Isabelle's face. It was that smile, that radiating happiness that caused Clary to push all thoughts of dread aside. Maybe happiness didn't have to just be 'before'. Maybe she could allow herself some happiness now. God, she wanted to be happy. She didn't want to always be alone, calculating the survival rates of all around her until she found herself the only one left.

Before Clary could take a breath, Isabelle's wiry arms were laced around her own lithe frame.

"You bet we're friends," The girl grinned. Clary found herself grinning with her, until the continued sound of whimpering brought her back to what had drawn the two girls to the store in the first place.

"I'm going to check on him," Clary said, pulling away from the hug. Isabelle rose an eyebrow at her in return.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not invited?"

Clary smirked. "Because you're not. Before I came here, Jace ran off somewhere in the mall, looking as if hellhounds were after him. I just—I'd feel better if I knew he was okay."

Isabelle looked at her through narrowed eyes, a touch of amusement in her softening expression as she seemed to scan the smaller redhead through an Xray. After what seemed like forever, she nodded.

"Alright, I'll go make sure your boy toy is still alive and has all his parts working. After all, what are friends for?" She winked at her with all the wickedness of original sin. Clary flushed, feeling flames kiss her skin and blossom into a thick red heat.

"I—we're not—"

The more Clary stumbled, the wider Isabelle's smirk became. Finally, she gave up and merely sighed. "Just do me a favor and pick yourself up some appropriate shoes for surviving the apocalypse."

Clary could almost swear she heard the girl mutter, "no promises" before quickly departing, leaving Clary alone with only the sobbing of a stranger for company.

* * *

For some reason, Clary couldn't bring herself to address the boy, and instead had spent the past few minutes pacing the length outside of the dressing room. For a distraction, she had scoped the rest of the store for more threats and found the only threat to be just how much the store could charge for such tiny fragments of clothing. She hoped that, somewhere, whoever had gotten away with that robbery had gotten what was coming to them. It was the only thought that could ease her growing frustration over having nothing else to kill. And, without anything to kill, that meant her time for procrastination was up. Bracing herself, Clary quickly rapped on the blazing pink door. A yelp echoed from the opposite side, followed by a thunk. The redhead hissed, quickly scanning her immediate surroundings for any new signs of movement. Thankfully, nothing, but if whoever this guy was kept yelling like this, he wasn't going to last long. And it wouldn't be by the claws of a zombie, but Clary's own.

Taking in a deep breath to calm herself and sound less murdery, she tried again.

"I'm not dead, but if you keep on screaming like that, you're going to attract everything dead in this goddamn city." Her words were blistering, a much harsher first impression than she had initially intended. A sharp hiss came from the other side of the door, followed by silence. Clary was almost sure she had scared the guy off before the distinct clicking of a lock sounded. The door opened slowly, cautiously.

The first thing Clary saw was a pair of deep, ocean blue eyes that inspected her warily. Next was the shock of black hair, dissheveled and thick like the swirling mass of black coffee Clary would once inhale at the start of each morning.

And then—

Clary took a step back. With each additional detail the opening door revealed—from his stubborn jaw, hard angled nose, to the ivory glow of the boy's skin—Clary felt more of her breath whoosh from her lungs.

"You're…you're not one of them?" he whispered.

"Oh c'mon, I know it's been awhile since I moisturized, but I didn't think I looked _that_ bad," Clary quipped in return, brushing off the initial panic that had gripped at her like a noose. For just a moment, the boy had looked familiar. As if she should know who he was. But now that he stood fully revealed, Clary saw that the boy was not a ghost from her past, though he looked like he had seen a ghost. Or, more accurately, the cannibalistic undead lingerie models that had been hoping to gorge upon his flesh and vital organs moments beforehand.

"What…where did they—"

"I'm Clarissa Fray, badass savior of your life, but I go by Clary."

The boy just stared at her, wide eyed and open mouthed. Clary almost thought she had broken him, but before she could blink, the boy had thrown himself around the redhead in a bone crushing hug. Clary coughed, struggling to release his stranglehold.

"Choking. Me," she spluttered.

The vastly taller boy flushed, releasing her quickly and running a hand through his unruly hair nervously.

"I…sorry…I just… _thank you_ ," he breathed shyly, before straightening himself and offering his arm forward. "I'm Alec."

Clary paused, staring at his outstretched hand warily while letting her eyes trail over the white canvas of skin laid out before her.

"Are you—"

The boy shook his head roughly, tufts of hair flying in every direction. "No. No, I wasn't bitten. I just…my boyfriend has a thing for glitter and I wanted to surprise him with some sparkly sweatpants or something because…we've been going through stuff. I was just about to pick something out when those two rushed me. I managed to lock myself in the dressing room just in time. I thought I was a goner."

"I know," Clary began to walk away, with the boy trailing after her. "Like I said, we heard you screaming. Us and probably every other dead thing in this city. For your sake, you better hope we aren't surrounded."

"I…I'm sorry." Red stained the boy's cheeks as he struggled to keep up with Clary. "I just…wait, did you say _we_? There are others with you? Where are they?"

Clary narrowed her gaze at the boy, not pausing in her steps. "Why?"

"I just…sorry, it's just been a while since I've seen other people."

The redhead pursed her lips. "We haven't been together long. One of them helped me take out those zombies after you—"

"Who? Where is she? Was she…you know?"

Clary paused, arching an eyebrow at the boy's enthusiasm. He stared back at her imploringly, waiting for an answer.

"She's fine. I just sent her…"

Clary trailed off, before shaking her head. "Listen, I don't have time for this. I've got to find Jace and—"

"Jace? Jace Herondale?"

Clary froze mid stride, finally looking at her newest tag along.

"Well, I don't really know his last name…"

The boy's ocean eyes were alive with excitement. "Blond, tall, unabashedly arrogant, thinks he's a reincarnated Greek Adonis?"

Clary found herself nodding along, despite the cold that had settled across her spine.

"I know Jace!" The boy was overflowing with dizzying excitement. Clary certainly _felt_ dizzy. "He was dating my cousin, Aline, for a while. They were more of a friends with benefits kind of fling, which I suppose, is the best you can really hope for with guys like him I guess. Jace could probably flirt a walker into letting him live, but you must already know this, of course."

"I uhh…I don't really know much about him," She murmured, looking away from Alec and out towards the mall. Somewhere out there, the boy she hadn't stopped thinking about could be in trouble. What would his reaction be, she wondered, when Clary returned to him some fling from a past he never seemed to think important enough to divulge to her? Or, maybe it was the opposite. Maybe his past was too precious to reveal to the likes of someone like her.

"—really no big deal." Clary hadn't even realized Alec had continued to speak.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Alec released a small smile, as if he knew the toxic thoughts that brewed within his rescuer's brain. "I said, not to worry, as what Jace and her had was really no big deal. I just…I need to find my boyfriend. He's what I care about, and if what you said was true about my screaming putting us in danger, then I really need to make sure he's okay."

"Alright. Good luck," Clary muttered, unable to make her words sound genuine. She turned on her heel, beginning to walk forwards again.

"But Clary…you've got to help me find him!" He insisted. Clary shook her head, turning to Alec with a steely gaze. "No, actually, I don't. I already saved you, which, believe me, is not something I normally do. I've got my own problems and, since I'm not your personal super hero, I'm under no obligation to tack your problems to my list. Especially when you might've trapped us all in here."

The redhead turned away from the boy once more, continuing to walk forward, when his pleading calls stopped her once more. Clary groaned dramatically, running a hand down her face in frustration. The longer her proximity to the boy, the more likely she would develop an ulcer.

"Alec, I don't—"

"Clary, _please_ , I know I don't deserve it, but I'm scared. He's all I've got left in this world. If there had been someone around who could have helped you when you needed it most, don't you think you would have tried with everything you had to convince them?"

Clary paused, her mind going straight to the images of the boy she tried so hard to bury. The boy with pale blond hair and green eyes that sparkled always with so much life, until the day that they didn't. She had been forced to let the apocalypse raise her in a nursery built upon blood and fear. What if that could have been avoided? What if there could've been someone there to ensure that her brother stayed by her side, always?

"Okay."

Alec blinked, once, twice, once more to be absolutely sure he had heard her correctly. Then, his face split into a wide grin. His arms rose, prepared to charge at her once more. Clary quickly put a step between them, holding her arms out as a barrier.

"If I'm going to help you, I need to have my ribs intact, thank you very much."

Alec gave her a sheepish grin in response before speeding off through the abandoned white halls of the mall and gesturing for her to follow.

"C'mon, I think I might have an idea where he might be."

Clary complied, shaking off the beginnings of dread bubbling at the base of her stomach. She had gone too long avoiding others, calculating their rates of survival and simultaneously planning how to out survive others, as if the last survivor on Earth would be rewarded rather than punished. She couldn't save her brother, but maybe instead of tormenting herself, she could honor him by saving others.

Clary followed along in Alec's wake, feeling as if things were beginning to change.

* * *

The two had been walking for close to ten or fifteen minutes before Alec stilled, pausing at a grand fountain in the mall's center. A shiver ran up Clary's spine, though the two were alone. Alec's shoulders were slumped, his gaze downturned. His lips were moving, muttering, though Clary couldn't make out the words. Slowly, hesitantly, he held his palm high above the fountain and released a shiny disk, which, after a moment's pause, Clary realized to be a coin. She felt the corner of her mouth tugging upwards in a grin, though her companion's expression was silent.

"I don't understand," he whispered. Clary got the feeling he hadn't intended for her to hear.

"Well, you know what they say about wishes. They may come true in unexpected ways," she remarked lamely, attempting to ease his spirits. Alec stood a good distance away from the redhead, appearing paler than he had in the dressing room. At first, Clary had attributed the shift in palor to the pale moonlight shining in through a skylight overhead, but she recognized the look of one enduring internal torment.

"Alec, it's okay. We'll—"

"You know what they also say about wishes—" Clary immediately stilled at the drawling of a new, unfamiliar voice. "—Be careful what you wish for."

Though only moments beforehand they had been alone, now as Clary spun, she found themselves surrounded on all sides by the largest group of people Clary had encountered since the apocalypse's beginning. There must have been twenty or thirty—all armed with semi-automatic rifles and wicked looking shotguns that were pointed directly at them. Alec took a step forward.

"Alec, get behind me," Clary hissed, her gaze locked on the man stepping within the circle's perimeter, hands clasped cooly behind his back as he regarded the two with unflinching black orbs.

"Clary—"

"Alec, trust me," She snapped, not allowing him to finish.

"What is this? We told you to bring us Herondale!" The man with black eyes spoke, though his gaze wasn't directed on Clary.

"I know. I _tried_ , but—"

Clary froze, not listening to the rest of the explanation. It was now that Clary could see the guns encircling them were not pointed at the two; They were pointed at _her_.

Despite the artillery of weapons just itching to ignite, Clary let out a slow chuckle that rapidly ignited into grim hysterical laughter. Clary couldn't remember the last time she had laughed, but now she couldn't seem to stop. It all made sense now. The insistence. The wild screams which had stopped seemingly upon her arrival. The penny in the water, which had once seemed a simple wish, but Clary now recognized as a signal.

She had walked right into a trap.

* * *

 **Here the plot is going to pick up very quickly. So, strap in your seat belts and get ready. To leave you with some ending questions to stew over until the next chapter, why do you think Alec would be working against them? How do you think Isabelle and Max will react to seeing their brother again? Why do you think this new enemy (that you may or may not recognize) is after Jace?**

 **I also want to make clear that while this story is already, for the most part, written, I care about the feedback and input of any and all of my readers. If there is something that you aren't a fan of or think I could be doing differently, I'd love to hear your input.**

 **Thank you again and I'll see you guys in the next chapter!**

 **-Anika**


	9. The Secrets We Keep

Clary didn't know much about guns, but she was fairly sure that when they were being pointed at you, one was not typically supposed to break down into hysterical laughter. The atmosphere radiated with an intensity that made Clary's skin feel warm and her spine feel cold. It was inescapable, it was a bomb waiting to explode, it was a finger twitching upon a fatal trigger. Clary couldn't hold her laughter in, no matter how much the shrill echos of her voice against the silent corridor only further enhanced the atmosphere's suffocation. If she stopped laughing, she would be forced to confront the terrifying realization that she had walked right into a trap; one that she had no idea how to get out of. And so, she laughed.

In fact, she had been so busy laughing at the utter hopelessness of her situation that she hadn't noticed the man with the black eyes step closer. She was really off her game today. He looked at her, a sneer of disgust marring his face before he moved his attention solely to the shaking boy beside her. Despite the red pinpricks of semi-automatic rifles trained on her signaling that she was in deep shit, she couldn't help but be a little offended at the situation. As if it wasn't bad enough that the _one_ time she tries to turn over a new leaf and trust people she ends up in a trap, it wasn't even a trap meant for _her_.

"Why is it that when I gave you explicit orders to deliver Herondale to me, instead you bring to me some pathetic mess of a girl?" He gave off the illusion of calm, but there was a clear undertone behind his words promising sweet nothings full of knives and blood. Hearing this mystery man speak was enough to instantly snap Clary out of her mirthful chuckles. She straightened defiantly. Alec flinched at the hissing of the formidable man who loomed over her. "Was Herondale too much of a challenge for you that you instead had to settle for some little girl?"

Clary's indignant scoff was ignored.

"I told you, she _knows_ Jace. She could lead us to—"

"What use is another one of Herondale's whores?" He leaned in toward Alec with a cruel smirk."Was it asking too much of you to put aside your own personal _history_ with Herondale and bring him in?"

"And here I was thinking we were growing to be great friends." At this, the man's head swiveled towards Clary for the first time. "Call me pathetic all you want, but I'm not the one who needs an army behind me to feel strong," she smirked with a wickedness powerful enough to make the devil blush. "Tell me, with your big army and your fancy guns, is it possible you're trying to overcompensate for something?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Clary could see the men training guns upon her stiffen, looking toward their leader for any indication to pull the trigger. Clary resisted the urge to swallow, instead locking her gaze with the black eyes that wereboring into her.

"And just who," he paused to take her in with a clearly unimpressed expression, "do you think you are?"

Clary ignored Alec's frantically shaking head and straightened before responding with a tone cold enough to bring an early winter, "My name is not little girl, but I'm the one who's going to make you regret you ever touched me."

The leader rose an eyebrow at her statement, casting another glance at Alec before striding toward Clary. Alec swallowed thickly, watching with wide eyed fear. ' _I'm sorry'_ , his lips mouthed. Clary looked away stonily, shifting her attention back upon the man who towered high above her.

"Alright then, _little girl_ , if you want to act tough and play with the big boys, who am I to stop you? Where is your group?"

Clary clenched her jaw at the nickname, but otherwise showed no reaction. If she was going to stall until any of her companions realized what was going on, she would have to play it smart and not give in to what he wants. He wasn't the first to underestimate her based on her short stature and scrawny build. She would just need to make sure he wouldn't be the last.

"That's a fairly loaded question," she remarked airily with a slight shrug. "Spiritually? I've never been very religious, but who am I to totally disregard the possibility that God or whatever is with me, you know?"

The man smirked in a way which let Clary know he found absolutely none of her diatribe humorous before leaning in closer. His breath was raw and unpleasantly warm upon her face, like rotting garbage left lying in the sun on a particularly hot summer day.

"You're surrounded on all sides by some very _frustrated_ men with guns who would love nothing more than to take their frustrations out on a little thing like you. Trust me when I tell you that Herondale may seem easy on the eyes, but he's not worth protecting. You might think he's coming to save you, but no matter how many sweet nothings he's whispered in your ear, the moment he catches wind of us he'll be looking to run and leaving you to pay the price for what he's done. Do yourself a favor and tell us what you know and not only will we let you go, but we'll have saved you from an inevitable heartbreak."

She looked up at him, remembering Jace running away from her so suddenly after spotting what she now suspected was the group before her. He had been so quick to leave without any explanation. Had Isabelle found him? Was he even around to find any longer? Was this what it had felt like when he had woken up to find she had left, robbing him in the process?

Clary let out a breath, unsure if what she was about to do was the right choice. She looked to the man and gestured for him to lean in closer.

"You're doing the right thing," he told her, his eyes hungry and gleaming as he lowered his figure to be face level with her. And, she knew he was right.

With a cursory glance around her at the surrounding crowd, she moved to whisper in his ear.

"I am _not_ a whore."

Before he could react, she reeled backwards and spat in his face. An outraged roar echoed throughout the mall as he straightened, backhanding Clary so quickly that she didn't register the pain until she was sprawled upon the linoleum floor. Alec let out a small hiss in surprise, but made no move to help her. No one moved. The man returned his gaze to Alec, the fire in his eyes cooling to their original facade of calm.

"Now Alec, please explain—"

His words were cut short by the tiny redhead leaping up from the ground and clawing his face. A hush descended upon the crowd, all eyes locked upon their leader and the girl who dared. Slowly, disbelievingly, the man rose his digits to his face. They came away stained with red. He snapped his gaze back to Clary. The circle of backup had tightened around her, moving in to attack, with the closest one coming in to restrain her. Despite tasting blood in her mouth, she smirked.

She was on her feet, ducking underneath a pair of grasping arms before they could touch her. Another lunged for her, abandoning their weapons until given explicit orders for a more physical approach. She sidestepped, elbowing him in the back of the neck. He fell forward, barely catching himself. Another kick—followed by dodging another attacker—and he let out a heavy grunt.

Without having a chance to take a breath, two more descended upon her. She sidestepped the first man's fist flying toward her, only to be caught in the stomach by the next. She wheezed, biting her lip to conceal the pain radiating from her abdomen. Her gaze narrowed.

She sprang, faking an attack to one before striking the other. The second man whimpered as he doubled over, clutching at his stomach. She kicked out, blood splattering across the tile as her foot connected with his jaw. He screamed, his voice ringing and echoing. He fell feebly to the ground while Clary cursed. If Alec's screams had been enough to cause her worry over any potential zombies being drawn to the commotion, this certainly wasn't helping. In her moment of distraction, a dozen red dots trained themselves upon her. She stilled.

Her ribs ached and her face burned, but none of these caused her heart to drop like the sound of the man's slow, impressed applause. She swallowed, but didn't dare lower her gaze. The man's attention was fully on her now, with no sign of losing interest anytime soon.

"You're a fighter," he remarked, a hand upon his chin.

No longer was he underestimating her, said the hungry glint in his eyes. He appraised her small form like a new toy he couldn't play with, wondering what else it was that she could do. _I'll show you exactly what it is I can do_ , the chaotic, conflict fueled piece of Clary's brain wanted to yell back. Another side of her, the more rational part, realized that nothing good could come from this.

Clary wasn't the only one to fully realize the implications of this newfound interest in her. Alec looked conflicted, warring with himself, before he spoke up tentatively. "When she came to the Victoria's Secret, there were two zombies that had me cornered. She took both of them down nearly singlehandedly without any weapons."

Clary scowled at him. At least he had the decency to look guilty. The man stroked his chin thoughtfully, raising an eyebrow at Clary.

"If you didn't have any weapons, how did you manage to kill them?"

She remained silent, lifting her chin stubbornly. With a wave of his hand and a rolling of his eyes, two men flanked her on both sides. Her feet lifted up from the ground as each took hold of an arm with bonebreaking strength. She felt something poking her back.

"God, I hope that's a gun," she muttered. The man smirked.

"Now, let's try this again. How did you kill them without any weapons?"

Through clenched teeth she responded, "I used a sports bra as a muzzle on the first one so that I could bash its skull in. The second one was killed with a high heel."

She watched him warily, hoping, praying, begging that he didn't realize that she had ommitted Isabelle from the story. He seemed too pleased with the information that she gave him to think much on it, but she knew it was only a matter of time. Hopefully by then, he would be nothing but a distant memory.

"I like you…" He paused, before turning to Alec once more. Alec sighed defeatedly.

"Clary. Her name is Clarissa Fray, but she goes by Clary."

The man turned back to her. "I like you, Clary. You're a fighter, a survivor. That's rare these days. In fact, you remind me of someone we used to know."

He turned to the group around him and asked in a booming voice that reminded Clary of someone who had had one too many drinks at the bar, "What do you say? Don't you think she reminds you of Kaelie?"

The group erupted into a chorus of rowdy cheering which was only halted by the thundercrack of a bullet whizzing through the air. Clary stiffened, tensing for the impact. It never came. She looked up. The man standing too close to her for comfort was grinning, looking upward as he held his hat in his hands. There was a distinct bullet sized hole within it that she could have sworn hadn't been there before. Her brow furrowed, realization settling in. Could it really be?

"What do you think Jace? Does she remind you of Kaelie too?"

Her head snapped upwards, searching desperately before she saw them. Perched on the second floor balcony, Jace stood as an avenging angel with Isabelle and Max flanking at his side. Four duffel bags lay at their feet, presumably full of weapons. Jace and Isabelle both had semi-automatic rifles of their own pointed towards the group, while Max stood armed with a small .45 caliber handgun. She doubted either Max or Isabelle knew how to operate a gun, but that was beside the point. She heard a sharp intake of breath from nearby, though she couldn't tell from who.

"Let her go, Valentine. She has nothing to do with any of this," Jace growled. Clary's attention turned back to him and she wondered how it had ever left. She couldn't help but flash back to when she had first met him. He had been so infuriatingly optimistic and plucky. Even when she had run away and stole his possessions, he hadn't looked as angry as he did now. She had never truly seen him anry before. Later, once the danger had passed and she was able to think more clearly, she would wonder whether the anger's source was from the rivalry between him and the leader or if she had something to do with it. But, that was a thought for later. That was a thought for when there wasn't a gun digging into her ribcage.

"You see Herondale, that's what _I_ was thinking too, but then her and I got to talking and I have to say, you do have good taste. I was about ready to shoot her at first when Alec brought her to me instead of you. What a mistake that would be."

Clary was about to make a snide comment about being talked about as if she weren't there, but Isabelle dropping her gun stopped her. Her hands were clasped over her mouth and though Clary couldn't see very well from how far away she was, from the glow the moonlight cast upon her face, it looked as if there was something wet upon her cheeks. She wasn't looking at Clary, or Valentine. Her gaze was solely reserved for—

"Alec!" She cried. Clary couldn't tell if she was shocked or horrified. Max was shaking beside her, though he seemed more confused than anything.

"Izzy," the boy who had gotten her into this mess whispered painfully. "Max"

Her gaze snapped to him in shock. How did he know the two? How was it that—

Clary paused in her internal rambling as it slowly dawned on her why Alec had looked so familiar to her when she had first seen him coming out of the dressing room. It wasn't that she had recognized him as someone she knew before. She had recognized him from now. The black hair, the ivory skin, the tall and graceful figures. How had she not recognized him as a sibling of Isabelle and Max's right away?

 _Because life doesn't work that way_ , she reminded herself. _At least, now it doesn't. You don't just get reunited with your family that you had thought was lost._

Except, it happened now.

"Alec, why are you with him? Why—why did you never come back for us. Max and I—we needed you and you weren't there. You…you…you were—" She broke off then, swallowing deeply. Jace's anger had faded into ache, but he still held his gun firm. It was only later, she knew, that he would allow himself to break.

"I—I'm sorry. This is where I have to be," he replied, though the words seemed to cut him up as he spoke them. Clary frowned. Something didn't seem right. She didn't have time to think on it before the man—Valentine—grasped her shoulder tightly.

"Get your hands off of her!" The fury was back and another shot went off. Clary flinched as it struck the fountain nearby, hitting the baby cupid directly in the heart.

"I'm disappointed in you Jace," Valentine drawled cooly. "You leave so suddenly, stealing from your only family, and continually try to hide from us as if we wouldn't catch up to you. That's no way to treat those who took you in as one of our own. And now, you won't even let us get to know the young girl who you seem to be reacting so strongly to?"

There was a sharp pounding sound that echoed throughout the corridor, though Clary couldn't tell where it was coming from amidst the heated battle. A quick, cursory glance around showed that nobody else seemed to have noticed the sound. All eyes were on Jace and Valentine.

"I was never your family!"

 _Bang! Bang! Bang! BANG!_

The crashing was getting louder, more frantic. It pulsed like a beating heart. Were those chains she heard rattling?

"Oh, but you were! Though you don't want to admit it, you were one of us, just as Kaelie was, and as you could still be. All of you."

Clary felt Valentine's gaze return to her pointedly, but she wasn't focused on him. Her blood had run cold for an entirely different reason.

"Like hell we will. Now, I will say this again. Let. Her. Go."

The glass double doors of the mall shook as a herd of zombies pushed against it.

 _Bang! Bang! Bang! BANG!_

Her worst fears had been realized and when the door broke down—which it would—none of them would stand a chance. Not against that many. Not unless—her gaze flickered across the corridor, weighing the distance between her and the stairwell. It was risky, but—

"You aren't exactly in a position to be making demands, Herondale. However, we'll consider letting Clary go if you return to us what you took."

Clary had just enough time to see a conflicted expression befall the golden boy. She had just enough time to realize how screwed they all were as she took in a breath. Before she could talk herself out of it, she bit down on her captor's hand. Hard. He released a shriek, but she refused to let go. _Better to act like a zombie now than to end up like one later_ , she reminded herself. Finally, he ripped his hand away from her, freeing her from his grasp. She dropped to the ground gracefully and swung out her leg. The two others holding her fell, but her attention wasn't on them. Clary snatched the fallen rifle out of the air before it could hit the ground. Immediately, she spun on her heel, pointing the gun at the group while cautiously stepping backwards.

Despite her pointing a gun at him, Valentine smiled. He held up a hand to the rest of his group.

"Stand down," his eyes never left Clary's. "I'm looking forward to when we meet again, Clarissa."

 _Like hell we will_ , she thought with a grimace.

"I wouldn't count on it," Clary responded. Her hands gripped the gun tighter as she continued to back away. Just a little bit further and then…

She cocked the gun, releasing a shaky breath. _I need a headstart_ , she reminded herself. _I need to make sure they don't follow us._ She heard Alec's voice realising what she was about to do, but it was already too late.

It was too late for them all.

Clary pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot was followed by the shattering of glass. She turned then, bolting up the stairs as if her life depended on it. Because she had just ensured that it did.

"Run!" She shouted to the trio waiting for her, though her voice was drowned out by another sound. The sound she had long grown familiar with. It was neither a growl nor a moan, but rather something inbetween. Something that had its own flavor, its own distinct pierce as it rang and groaned like the choking of a faulty engine, the churning of gravel and glass, and the desperate squeals of those trying desperately to hang on to life.

It was the sound of death; it was the sound of a life that was taken, just as they too could be taken at any given moment. It was the sound that they would one day hear, suspended above their tired, broken bodies just before they are ripped into and torn apart. It was the sound of the doorway shattering, allowing the herd inside. It was the sound of her heart thumping against her chest as she once again crawled for her life for as long as she could in the same desperate manner that the monsters below crawled for her flesh. They were all just struggling to survive.

And, as Clary pumped her arms faster to carry her to salvation, she hoped she survived long enough to figure out what the hell just happened.

* * *

 **Someone asked if Malec was going to be a thing in this story. The answer is definitely yes, though Magnus won't appear for a bit for reasons you'll discover in the next chapter. Next chapter is super long, like 6,000 words long and for some reason you guys review a lot less for the longer chapters, so I'll** **probably break it up. You ready for the first Jace flashback? Maybe even some Clace and a killer ending on the side? Well then you should review.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

 **-Anika**


	10. On the Other Side

**You guys have literally been insane in reviewing the past few days. I'm so glad you're enjoying this story, as I was a bit hesitant to post this initially because of how different it is. Some people asked how many reviews it takes for an upload. Normally it is twelve, but since the chapter before didn't get as much I was planning on holding off for just a little bit more. But you guys just kept reviewing, so I figured you earned this chapter. This chapter is some of Jace's backstory as I wanted to give you guys a break between cliffhangers. I hope you like it!**

* * *

Jace's life had never been better.

Party lights bore down on him and the stench of weed, cheap booze, and sweat filled the air. The smell had disgusted him once, back when he was an oh so innocent freshman, but as a junior, he had long grown used to the heady scent. In fact, it sparked a burst of adrenaline within him. It reeked of a party, of a chance to let loose and have fun with his friends and—

A smirk lit up his face as he spotted an obscenely tantalizing pair of legs topped with a plushy ass sashaying away from him. It was one of those asses that were just begging to be touched, then pulled, and then kneaded, and oh god—

Of course, there were other perks to the parties too.

"Yo, Herondale!" Amongst the grinding bodies and twirling hips, he heard a familiar voice that caused a genuine grin to light up his face. Jordan, one of his frat brothers and the quarterback of the Bruins was lumbering toward him, looking irritably at a couple that were too comfortable making out in public while stripped to their underwear. Jace couldn't help but smirk at the display. Jordan was never cut out for the frat life. He had always been the mom of their team, the constant designated driver, the one who lectured them as if he weren't just a few years older than the rest of them. Jace knew that if he hadn't needed to join a frat for the alumni connections it offered, Jordan would have been in a dorm spooning his girlfriend to some chick flick rather than at the biggest party of the year.

Jace, on the other hand, lived for the constant pulsing excitement the life of a fratboy offered him. The girls always throwing themselves at him; the constant companionship of his frat brothers; parties that he couldn't remember the next day, but knew nontheless had been epic . What more could a small town kid have wanted when going to university?

From Jace's position perched upon the pool table, he could see everyone in the crammed house. Jordan wasn't going to be making any headway for quite a while judging by the bra clasp that had just been undone in front of Jordan's blushing puritan eyes. That gave him some flexibility to appreciate the crowd a little. That is, appreciate the half of the crowd who lacked testosterone. There were some faces he recognized. Bridgette was practically falling on the keg, just as she had been that one night they had spent together a few months back. She had gotten needy rather fast. And then there was Chelsea, who was posing with her equally scantily clad friends for a cleavage laden selfie. He smirked at the sight of the group, seeing they were as inseparable now as they had been that night he had planned on just getting with Chelsea. Not that he was necessarily complaining about the extra companionship. His eyes danced away from the five, instead flickering to another who was heading right towards him. Dear god, what was her name? Emma? Emily? Brittany? He knew it had been some suburban white girl cliche. But which one?

"Jace!" Her voice was nasally. He cringed, just as he had when he had first heard that nasally voice scream. It had been the first time he had regretted being so great in bed. He pretended not to hear her—as if that was possible—and fixed his gaze on Jordan. The poor guy looked like he was going to pass out, but Jace hardly cared about his friend's discomfort while his own safety was on the line. He heard his name being called again and winced. Emma/Emily/Brittany/? was the type of girl who was used to being heard, but feigned obliviousness to her behavior when confronted. Why had he ever slept with her again?

His gaze had been downturned when she suddenly pushed herself against him, shoving her overly large breasts directly into his eyeline. _Oh right,_ he mused. _That's why._

"You've been avoiding me, Jace." He forced his gaze upwards, where she was doing that cutesy innocent eye bat that guys like him were supposed to find sexy, according to movies. He shrugged.

"And you are?"

She giggled. That's what Jace loved about girls like her. He could be as much of an ass as he wanted, yet they would still lap it up. They would literally _giggle_ while he insulted them. Sure, there may occassionally be a _"feminist"_ girl every here and now who would call him out on his bullshit and play hard to get, as if he couldn't treat them like dirt, but even they would always fall and toss their ideals aside to become another giggling plaything for his entertainment with a good enough wink.

"You're awful," she pouted. "If you keep talking like that then there won't be a round two."

"Thank god."

Another giggle. See?

Before she could say anything else, a panting Jordan shoved her aside just as he would the linebacker of the Trojans. She screeched, but Jace never checked to see what happened to her. He had never seen Jordan look so serious.

"What's wrong, man? You've never seen breasts before? I'll be sure to send Maia my sincerest apologies."

Jordan didn't smile. It was like he hadn't heard him. Instead, he pulled out a phone from his pocket—Jace's phone. Jace furrowed his brow in confusion. Jordan normally confiscated phones before big parties to avoid any regrettable drunk texting decisions, but he still didn't understand what had him so shaken.

"Jace," he paused, swallowing thickly as he looked to the golden boy with sad eyes. "Your dad called. I—I forgot that it was your phone so I picked up."

Jace stiffened. "Jordan, I don't get what—"

"He's sick Jace. He's sick and—it's bad."

Jace stood up roughly, stumbling away from Jordan and the party and the night. This wasn't right. It couldn't be. It just—

He was Jace Herondale, the beloved running back and frat boy who could have anyone he wanted. _He has the perfect life_ , people would say about him, and they'd be right. His life was perfect. It had been ever since he had left that dead beat town he'd grown up in, since he had stormed out after getting at it with his dad about what he was doing with his life. They hadn't talked since. And now—

It was all over. His chest felt tight as he stared around at all of the happy, glassy faces surrounding him. The perfect life of the perfect boy had just been ripped out from underneath him. This was all over. He would go home and take care of his father. He had to. Once his dad got better, he could come to take his life back. This wasn't goodbye. Not yet. He was still Jace Herondale.

"Take one last look bitches, because your lives are about to get a lot more pathetic!" he crowed, feeding upon the drunken cheering thrown back. He smiled smally, basking in the hundreds who adored him and always would.

If he had known they all would be dead in a week, maybe he would have thought of something better to say.

* * *

His father's body was cold.

It had been a few days since he arrived back home. How had his world fallen apart so quickly? Jace kneeled next to the gray pallored body—because that's what he was now—of his father. The man he had looked up to his entire life. Gone. So quickly, so simply, without a fight. He felt his throat tighten as the first wave of sobs threatened to break free and explode. If they did, he knew there would be no pulling himself together. That would be it. He'd be done for, left to mourn alone for his father in some tiny office in an abandoned mall.

It wasn't fair. His father had been getting better and things had even begun to look up. Then the military came. "Everyone in the city has been ordered to evacuate," they had said on the news. Of course, they were vague on the _why_ , citing some kind of illness or whatever bullshit they were trying to push. His father had adamently refused to leave.

"Nothing good ever happens when the military tries to force people to evacuate," he had grumbled. "You think the Khmer Rouge evacuated Phnom Penh out of the goodness of their own hearts? Pah!"

And so, they had stayed while everyone had left. They had stayed, even while the doctors had fled, taking the medicine his father needed to survive with them. The evacuation order had been two days ago. That was all it took for his father to cough until there was no breath at all.

Jace blamed them. He blamed everyone. He had just been reunited with the man he'd idolized as a child who now was taken from him. There was so much he still had to say. There was so much—

A stirring came from beneath him. Jace jumped, startled. His father's arm twitched beneath him, life flickering inside the form that had been lifeless only a moment ago. A beaming grin broke upon Jace's face.

"Dad," he choked, hastily wiping away tears with the back of his elbow. "You're—you—"

His father's eyes flashed open. There was a growling sound from the back of his throat that Jace had never heard before. Like a blender being blended by another blender while that blender is also blending a small dog. Jace furrowed his brows for a moment, before shaking his confusion away with a chuckle.

"You sound like shit, Dad," he breathed. His father's eyes—were they yellow?—locked on his. The man who had just been on his deathbed lunged with a piercing screech.

"Dad!"

He was on top of him now, his jaw snapping wildly as he fought to tear into his son. Jace screamed, feebly attempting to push his father away from him. He kept screaming his father's name, telling him he was his son, but there was no recognition in his eyes.

Was this PTSD? What did his father, a mall security guard, even have to be traumatized from? Early alzheimers? The possibilities ran through Jace's head as he tried to explain why his father looked as if he wanted to _eat_ him. Tears were running down his face and he felt his resolve weakening just as he heard a pop and felt a cold splash across his face. His father fell limp on top of him, pinning him to the ground. Jace opened his eyes tentatively.

Red was all around him. In his hair, soaking his clothes, an ever growing stain oozing upon the charcoal gray carpet from his father's shattered skull. Jace screamed his father's name, grasping him by the lapel as he cried out. "Come back," his voice was as shattered as his father's temporal lobe. "Dad, please!"

"It wasn't your father, Jace. Not anymore."

The voice came from the doorway. Jace looked up dumbly, again scrambling to wipe away his tears at the new voice. A man with broad shoulders and hair as fair as corn stalk stood. He was wearing his Army Combat Uniform—camo pajamas, he had called them—and in his hands, he clutched an M16A4 rifle with a silencer attached. The gun that had burst his father's skull.

"Uncle Valentine?" Jace felt five years old again. A child with no clue what the world had in store. "What are you talking about? What's going on?"

His uncle sighed, lowering his weapon to kneel beside him. His oil slick eyes gazed at him with compassion and mourning one could only show to those they loved. "Jace, the military lied. They—they lied to all of us. They didn't evacuate the city because of some _illness_. We've got a goddamn apocalpse on our hands and we hoped that we could cover up what was going on and contain it before any civilians found out but—this isn't a war a government can win."

"Apocalypse? War?" Jace felt like he was going to be sick. "What the hell—"

"Listen, kid, I know it sounds crazy. Believe me, I know. _I_ thought it was crazy too and I promise that I will do my best to explain everything later, but for now, we have to go."

Jace felt suddenly dizzy. "Go? Go where?"

His uncle stood up now, looking toward the doorway. "Me and a couple of my buddies from the squadron left before things got too hairy. We had enough time to prepare a sanctuary full of supplies. We can build a community, first letting in those we trust and then expanding. I was planning on bringing both you and your dad with me but—"

His eyes fell downwards to the still body of his dead brother. Valentine was a soldier, Jace knew. He was trained not to mourn until the battle was won. The grief for his brother and Jace's father would come later, when he was alone and it was quiet. But until then, he would keep moving and do what he could to at least protect his brother's son. Jace would be safe with him. They could survive whatever his uncle said was coming.

"But—why do we need a community? How long is this thing going to last? Can't we just, you know, wait it out?"

Valentine shook his head. "There's no telling how long this will last. All we can do in the mean time is survive as a family and keep going. I can't force you to come with me if you don't want to, but—"

Jace shook his head quickly, standing up from the floor. "No. I'll go with you. I just—" he breathed in roughly, steading himself "—I want to bury Dad. I can't just leave him to rot in this cellar."

Valentine smiled softly, wrapping his arms around Jace in a hug. He sank into the embrace, not realizing just how much he had needed a hug, before he began to cry once more.

* * *

 **College Jace was so much fun to write, in all his ass-ish glory. Especially in comparing how he viewed relationships then and how he's developed (and will continue to develop) in his relationship with Clary. And yes, in this story, Jace is related to Valentine but Clary and Jonathan are not. Because I do what I want.**

 **Next chapter will be a whirlwind from start to finish, but I'm very proud of it. I'm really excited for you guys to read it, so be sure to review so that I can post it as soon as possible! Thanks for all of your support!**

 **-Anika**


	11. It's All Downhill From Here

**Dang. You guys went crazy with reviews. Which makes me feel utterly horrible about the delay in posting. We got hit by a blizzard where I am-a historic mother load of a storm apparently-and so my friend was snowed in at my place. Therefore, no time to update. But I am absolutely floored by the amount of support you guys have given this story. Which makes what I'm about to do all the more devastating. Here we go!**

* * *

There would come a night, Clary knew, where the screams of those being torn apart because of what she had done would haunt her. She would remember the exact sound of their bones cracking—like celery snapping in half, and an unhealthy dose of cringe. As she raced for her life, she had had to avoid looking upon the red stained memorial of her own choices and remind herself that it was for her own safety. It was a necessity. It was either her or them. _How convenient_ , her mind would whisper like the traitorous little bitch it was, _we always seem to be able to find an excuse to justify our wrongs, but never seem to be able to justify doing what is right instead._ She ignored it and continued to race for survival. At night, she could cry over what she had to do to survive, just as she aways seemed to. But to cry, she would need to survive. And to survive, she would have to bear the weight of the shades of red that could so easily have been her own.

 _Run,_ Clary screamed to herself just as she had screamed at the trio in the moments beforehand. They hadn't listened judging by the echo of gunfire that surrounded her like a destructive halo. Typical. She could only hope that Jace knew a way out. Her entire plan was dependent upon the possibility that despite everything, the four of them would be the ones to escape unscathed. The end had to justify the means. And with every second that passed, the more zombies filtered in through the shattered doorway and the narrower this hope became. God, she better not have doomed them all. She just had to make it a little bit further and then—

She was pulled backwards by a hand tightly gripping her forearm. Fear clutched at her heart, ripping, pulling, tearing. Just as they would do to her. She spun, her free arm immediately going to the rifle at her hip. A desperate hand enclosed around her wrist, freezing her.

"Clary, please—"

She ripped her arm from Alec, the boy who had caused this mess. Her face twisted into a scowl. She would rather it have been a zombie.

"These deaths are on you, Alec," she spat, turning away. "I hope you're satisfied with the choices you've made."

"They have my boyfriend!" Clary hesitated, her foot left hovering above the stairs. "That's why I had to do this. That's why I had to lie and to leave and…they told me that if I got them Jace that they would let Magnus go."

His voice cracked painfully. Clary hoped he wasn't crying. She wouldn't be able to hate him if he cried and she _wanted_ to hate him. She wanted a world painted with black and white, where you knew what was good and what was bad. It was easy to tell the monsters and the humans apart and things were easy. Simple. But her world was hard and the true monsters weren't the ones trying to eat her. Nothing was black and white in her world; here there was only red.

"Just go, Alec," her voice broke. She hated herself for it. "Run while you still can."

"Please, just…please take care of them. Let them know that I'll come back for them when I can."

Clary didn't respond. They both knew promises were useless.

"And Clary, be careful."

She caught a faint glimpse of Alec's retreating form before turning back to face her escape. Too much time had been wasted. The sounds that kept her up at night were growing closer, practically nipping at her feet. She ran, bolting up the stairs two, three at a time. Jace was there waiting for her at the top shooting at any zombies that seemed to get too close. When he saw her, he lowered his gun. There was something in his eyes—something that didn't seem allowed in a zombie apocalypse.

"Clary, are you—"

" _Keep shooting you idiot!"_

He nodded grimly, tucking his gun upon the sweet spot on his shoulder and repositioning his legs. Behind him, Isabelle and Max were just finishing up shoving the rest of the weapons and supplies into four duffel bags. She swallowed roughly at the sight, before turning to Jace.

"Please tell me you know a way out."

He nodded.

"I grabbed the keys to a stairway that leads up to the roof when I saw _they_ were here. It's not far."

Clary let out a breath. Hope. It was such a strange feeling to have while she heard the screams of a massacre she had started, but it was there nonetheless. They had a chance. She didn't doom them all. They could—

A trickle of zombies were halfway up the stairs, with more following suit. The majority were still occupied with those trapped below, but there were only so many humans and so many zombies. _So many_. How were there this many?

She spun, holding her gun at the ready and grabbed a bag from a shaking Max. Clary paused at the sight of him—pale and weak, as if he were about to collapse on the spot—but moved on nonetheless. Escape first, catch up later. She shot a glance at Isabelle, cocking an eyebrow at the girl in question. Isabelle gave a clipped nod in response. Clary knew she wasn't okay, but she could give off the illusion until survival was guarenteed. She turned back to Jace.

"I'll shoot, you lead the way."

Over the next few minutes, Clary wasn't aware of much of anything aside from the shooting of her gun and the beating of her heart. _Thump, Bang. Thump, Bang. Thump, Bang._

Another scream erupted throughout the corridor, violent and mournful. Then came the silence. There had been so much screaming earlier, it had seemed as if it would never end. Dante's vision of hell brought to life. Yet, the quiet seemed worse. It was still, making a moment last forever. Silence had a sound, Clary decided, and it was loud.

She forced her legs to move faster throughout the maze of hallways and deserted shop corners, swiftly dodging the occassional dead body. She had long grown used to the sight of corpses that decorated the landscape. It was the dead that wasn't quite so still that she had a problem with. With Valentine and his men silenced, they would be the next targets. A giant herd was on the move and they were the next course.

"Max, you have to move faster," Isabelle gripped the weary boy's arm in an effort to urge him along as he continued to trail behind the group. Clary noticed her bite her lip worriedly, but she couldn't focus on that. Not now. Not when she heard the echo of a click come from her rifle. Empty.

"Jace," she couldn't hide the panic that filled her voice, "how much farther are we?"

He made no effort to mask his panic either. Clary wasn't sure if that made her feel better or so, so much worse.

"The door is at the end of this hallway. We just have to—"

The ground beneath them quaked with the heavy footfalls of a herd. It was coming from all directions now. They were moments away from being surrounded.

"Is it just me or does it feel like they're getting smarter?" Isabelle breathed out in a way that almost sounded like a joke, but filled them with a cold emptiness. Dread.

 _Run_ , she wanted to say, though she knew what the response would be. _No, duh. What do you think we've been doing?_ It was a cheer, a chant to push her on. _Run_ , her mind screamed, over and over in the hopes that the more she said it the faster her legs would move.

She threw the gun that was now only dead weight to the side, hoping a particularly stupid zombie would trip and die upon it. Then, at least her death wouldn't totally be in vain.

Jace threw himself upon the door as Clary ripped her duffel bag open for a new gun. They were encircled by over a hundred zombies throwing themselves on top of each other in an effort to reach them first. Taking out a couple of them was rather futile from a practical standpoint. But _damn_ , did it feel good.

 _Bang Bang Bitch_ , her mind spat. Isabelle stood next to her, looking powerful and confident as she shot closely approaching zombies with a bloodthirsty grin. A complete reversal from the teenager wielding a hairbrush as a weapon a few hours ago. She knew a similar expression could be seen on her own face. Every time she could take down these bastards, it felt like revenge for all those they had taken from her. Justice. That was rare to find these days.

A click sounded from behind her and a vicelike grip enclosed itself around her wrist, ripping her backwards. She tumbled, falling backwards against the staircase. Isabelle and Max were quick to zip inside just in time for Jace to slam the door against the still lunging zombies that had been so close to catching their prey. So close. Even as Jace locked the door, they all knew they weren't safe. Not yet. They were living on borrowed time, waiting for the time when the herd would manage to break the door down. How long would they have? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? It was impossible to tell.

Yet, their impending death didn't stop Clary from lunging at Jace and pushing him down upon the staircase. She jumped on top of him, a boiling kettle about to burst, and pinned him to the ground. He stared back up at her with wide eyes, but that didn't last. In a moment, his composed expression had returned. He smirked up at her, flashing his chipped tooth.

"Clary, not that I mind the position, but are you sure this is the best time to declare your feelings for me? There are _children_ present."

She wanted to rip the stupid boy smirk off his stupid boy face. She wanted to rip off other stupid boy things too. But that was beside the point.

"Can it you asshole," she wanted to tear into him with her words with an equal amount of ferocity as the zombies would tear into them. "You have _so much_ explaining to do!"

His jaw tensed as he regarded her with sobering eyes.

"What did he say to you?"

Clary paused, freezing at the chill of his voice.

"Jace—"

"Clary, what did he say to you?" He moved swiftly, pushing them both into sitting positions as he gripped her arms desperately. His eyes had darkened intently on her, acting as if it were a matter of life or death. She remembered when she had seen Jace earlier and had never remembered seeing him so angry. Now, as she looked at him, she couldn't recall ever seeing him so fearful. Who was this man who had such an affect on him? What had happened in Jace's past that was now being unearthed?

The door behind them let out a squeal. The metal of the hinges were crying out as a herd of zombies pushed against it, clawing for their meals. Clary shook her head, ripping herself from her position nearly sitting upon Jace's lap and grabbing for her duffel bag.

"Not now. The better they can hear us, the harder they'll fight to break down that door. First we have to focus on getting as far away from the herd as we can."

Jace let out a frustrated sigh, before nodding and moved to collect his supplies as well. Isabelle and Max had both been quiet, their heads drawn together as they mumbled quietly to themselves. However, the banging against the door had drawn them back into the immediate danger weighing down upon them all. They followed suit, collecting the supplies and moving up the staircase. About halfway up, Max stumbled. Isabelle was swift to collect his bag from him, taking on his extra load and giving him a slight smile. He did his best to replicate the gesture, but he may as well have been a zombie with the deadened expression on his face.

Something about the exchange nagged at her, though she didn't know why. It felt familiar yet inaccessible, like an answer on a test she hadn't studied well enough for. She turned, facing forward as the red sky of dawn felt warm against her face. The crimson hues were an untainted stroke upon a blazing earth. Despite all that had been lost when the world went to hell, there were some things that humans just couldn't seem to destroy, no matter how hard they tried. They were living in a desolate apocalyptic wasteland, yet the sun still rose and the grass still grew. The mountains on the horizon still stood. Monsters roamed the earth and they could die at any moment, but dang were the sunsets beautiful. Sometimes Clary would wake up in the morning and breathe in crisp, clean air and remember when the sky was filled with smog. It was amazing what the world was like without humans working factories or driving cars or dumping in the oceans.

There were times when Clary wondered if they had brought this upon themselves. If this was just nature's way of punishing the humans that were so intent on destruction. For centuries they had destroyed the earth and each other, now they would be doomed to walk the earth as the monsters they pretended not to be.

But then, Clary remembered Jonathan and Simon and her parents and even the old lady at the grocery store that had given her a teddy bear when she was six. Some may have deserved this world, but not everyone did.

"Clary—" The way he said her name—as if his very survival relied upon her—brought her from her stupor.

"You already got caught up on most of it. He wanted you; I was just collateral. He tried to get me to lead you to him and after I fought off a couple of his guys he said I was a fighter. He said I reminded him of someo—"

Jace cut her off quickly. "What about after? What did he tell you after? Before you escaped."

Clary's heart thudded in her chest as she remembered Valentine's twisted smile as she pointed a gun at him. He had looked so sure of himself. That damn smile had been what pushed her over the edge and convinced her to let the herd in. She looked up at the golden boy who was staring at her so intently.

"He told me that he looked forward to seeing me again." Clary shook her head, a frown staining her expression. "But—he's dead now. I made sure of that."

As she said it, she found herself less sure. Jace cursed violently, earning a nasty look from Isabelle who moved to cover Max's ears. Jace laughed nastily at the raven haired girl, his lips tugged up into a cruel smirk.

"He just saw people getting torn to shreds in there by a herd of lame brains and you're worried about a couple of bad words?"

Isabelle was silent, no longer looking at Jace. She was peering down, over the edge of the roof. Her body shook violently.

"Izzy—"

 _"_ _Look_."

Clary and Jace both took the few steps to the roof's edge. The city sprawled out before them in a tangled mass of concrete. It was a rule for survivors that the city was off limits. It was suicide to go into the city, where so many who had died still roamed. As Clary looked below, now she could see why. There must've been over a thousand specks below. And they were all shuffling to the mall, to them.

"And I thought Black Friday was bad," Jace murmured. Clary felt like throwing up.

"Is there a way out?"

Jace shrugged, though she could see through the shoddily put together facade. The day was wearing on him.

"Who knows? I don't normally make it a habit to jump off of roof tops."

 _Deep breaths, Clary,_ she internalized. _You've already murdered enough people today._

"Hey," a small voice called out. "I think I found a way."

The three snapped their heads up to see Max, standing near the backside of the mall. Clary felt an internal pang. She had almost forgotten about the small boy. He had been so quiet ever since the four had reunited; since he had been reunited with his missing brother over the opposite side of a pointed gun. He seemed absolutely exhausted over the day's events and, as Clary took him in, she noted that his pallor was unnaturally pale, with a greenish tinge. The poor kid looked like he needed a nap. Hell, they all needed a nap.

The three moved swiftly to where he stood. It seemed that while every zombie in the city had somehow gotten wind of their presence, the backside of the mall had only a few lurking about. _Poor saps_ , Clary thought dryly. _Even in death they're so unpopular that nobody told them about the juicy looking humans in town._ There was even a manhole cover not too far away. It was the best shot they had. And, as Clary heard another loud banging sound, she knew that any shot was better than staying there. It was just a matter of getting down the two story drop without becoming a pancake.

"This pipe looks big enough to support the weight of a person," Isabelle murmured, a touch of hope lighting up her face as she pointed to a thick corrugated pipe nearly as wide as Max that ran down the side of the building, ending a few feet away from a row of dumpsters. "We could shimmy down it and slip in the manhole to go back through the sewers."

Clary ran the plan through her head, mentally scanning the possibilities for anything that could go wrong. Of course, there was always the chance of them falling to a grisly death. Then again, if her brains were to be splattered against the pavement, at least she wouldn't come back as one of them. There was also the chance that the zombies below would notice what they were doing and the herd would come for them. But, as the continuous beating of the door told her, if they stayed, their chances were nonexistent. Everything pointed to this being their best—and only—hope for survival.

"I'll go first," Jace volunteered, looking at the pipe with obvious distrust. Clary shook her head.

"No, I should go first."

"What? No! What if—"

" _Oh my god_ ," Isabelle groaned, cutting the two off. "If you two don't quit flirting I swear I'm going to throw myself off this roof."

She continued on, ignoring their splutters and protests. "Clary can go first. She's probably the lightest anyways with those bird bones. Then Max and I can follow and Jace can stay here and be torn to shreds for getting us into this mess in the first place."

Jace looked affronted and, to Clary's surprise, ashamed. Yet, Clary knew he probably blamed himself too. Even if their plan worked and they all made it out of there alive, they wouldn't be without their scars. Just as Clary felt the burden of those who had died, Jace would feel the weight too. As angry as she was with him now, her chest felt a little lighter knowing that they could carry the burden together.

"I—if you don't want me to come after everything, I understand." Clary felt her heart stutter within her chest in surprise at the genuine vulnerability in his expression. Despite having been in his constant presence practically since they had met, she felt as if she were looking at him for the first time. A glance at Izzy showed that she, too, was surprised. Her expression immediately grew mournful.

"Jace, no. I was just kidding. I—well, yes, I do want answers and I am angry at the situation, but I don't want you to leave. None of us do. We don't blame you."

Isabelle looked to Clary for support. The girl swallowed nervously, feeling all eyes on her, feeling Jace's eyes on her. She looked up, green eyes locking with gold, and said, "Don't go."

Something flickered in his eyes before he nodded, swallowing roughly. Then, he smiled and Clary knew that somehow, they would all survive. They would all get through this, no matter what else came next.

"I'll go last."

And so it was.

A few minutes later, Clary was easing her way down the pipe. She wished her hands weren't so sweaty as she gripped the base of the pipe, acutely aware of the fact that she had no harnass. Every sound that she made sounded like gunfire. Yet, the zombies below seemed blithely unaware of the meal dangling above them. She was halfway down the pipe when she heard a moan. Her heart skipped a beat as her eyes raced to check her surroundings. There was nothing below her. Where could that sound have come fro—

"Max!" She heard Isabelle's scream before she felt the body crash into her. Her grip was wrenched from the pipe and then there was nothing but air below her. They both tumbled down and down and _down_. She heard their names being screamed from above, but all that registered was her grip on the limp ten year old and her body slamming into the metal lid of a dumpster. Her body tingled before it ached and then burned. _Pay attention to me! Pay attention to me!_ her nerves screamed at her. She let out a moan, until she realized that she hadn't at all. It was coming from further away, as the nearby zombies now became aware of the injured prey that had been sent from above.

"Clary!" Her head was swimming. She couldn't bother to figure out who had called to her. Stop moving, her body yelled at her, but her body wasn't as much of an incentive as a crowd of monsters who wanted to eat her so she shakily pushed herself up on her elbows. Something wet was stuck to her forehead. Clary already knew what it was.

 _Shit_ , she whispered. Zombies were like sharks. They were drawn to blood and once they got a good whiff, they had a way of tracking you. She pushed back the new reality of their situation, looking at the boy beside her. He was unconscious, a sheen of perspiration coating his face. What had happened to him that had caused him to lose consciousness like that?

The moaning was closer now. She swore again for good measure before reaching for the sawed off shotgun that had fallen to her left. She looked up. There were only half a dozen zombies surrounding her, though she figured more would join them soon enough. Despite the stream of blood now pouring into her eyesight, she began to shoot.

6\. _Bang!_

5\. _Bang!_

4\. _Bang!_

3\. _Bang!_

2\. _Bang!_

1—the gun dropped from her palms. Her hands were shaking as they moved to cover the sobs that shook her core as her eyes locked upon the zombie that was growling at her. The dumpster quaked as two extra weights dropped next to her, but she couldn't tear her eyes away. She just couldn't.

"Clary," a voice sounded to her left. Distantly, a part of her recognized the voice. Yet, it felt so far away. The voice cursed before fondling for their gun, aiming and preparing to pull the trigger before—

"No!" Clary screamed, bolting to her feet and trying to wrestle the gun from him. Golden eyes locked on her in surprise. His mouth opened, trying to make sense, trying to comprehend. She shook her head.

"Please Jace. Don't, please. It's just one zombie. We can just go!"

He paused, taking in the blood and tears pouring down her face. He looked like he wanted to argue, he really looked like wanted to argue, but he didn't. Slowly, he nodded and she felt her heart surge. He didn't understand. No, he wouldn't. To him, he only saw a zombie. But to her, she saw the pale blond hair and green eyes that she had grown up with. She saw the brother that she couldn't bring herself to kill and, as a result, she had gotten who knows how many others killed. She knew inside that she should. She owed it to Jonathan to set him free, to not allow him to be a monster eternally roaming the earth. But she could never bring herself to do it. Even as she took in the fresh blood that dribbled from his mouth and wondered how many people her brother had eaten, she couldn't do it.

And so, she stumbled after Jace as he carried Max gingerly to the manhole. She often thought about the choices she's made. If she had just killed Simon while she had the chance instead of running, she never would have led him to her brother. Her choices got people killed. And yet, she closed the manhole behind her, saying silent goodbyes to the brother that now looked at her more like a meal than his sister. Her choices got people killed, yet she made the same mistakes because inside she was still just the little girl who couldn't be left alone in the zombie apocalypse.

After her feet hit the ground, she gingerly began to wipe the tears and blood from her face with her sleeve. The sounds of yelling and sobbing stopped her in her tracks. Jace stood with his hands buried deep within his hair, yelling profanities down the sewer. Beneath him, Isabelle cradled Max's unconscious form in her arms, sobbing desperately. Clary took a step closer and then she saw it. On Max's shoulder was a bite mark that glowed bright red against his ivory skin. Her legs gave out, sending her to her knees. There was only one explanation for what had bitten him.

With one look at Isabelle's desperate eyes, it became clear that she had known all along. They all were responsible for their choices. And, like Clary, Isabelle had chosen love, no matter who might die because of it.

* * *

 **The title of this chapter is very indicative, as you may have guessed. I officially only have two chapters left to actually write in this story, so even I don't know how it will all end up. But I do ask that you bear with me, because it will be worth it. I'm going to try to spoil as little as possible (which, let me tell you, is super hard) but I'll just say that the next few chapters are going to make you both incredibly upset and excited.**

 **So, all I'll say for now is to make sure to review so I can post this story before I end up spoiling it.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

 **-Anika**


	12. How We Say Goodbye

"I—I didn't mean to try to keep it from you guys or put you in danger, I just didn't think it was that deep and he seemed fine, you know? I tried to get some medicine but the old people stole it and then everything's been happening so fast I—"

Tears poured down Isabelle's face as she faced Jace and Clary, still clutching a weak Max to her chest. It was less of a comforting gesture, Clary figured, as it was a protective stance. She wanted to make sure they wouldn't try to kill the ten year old. The ten year old who was infected. The young boy who had come into her tent and asked her to tell him a story. There was no way out of this, they all knew. There was no roof to escape from, no pipe to climb down, or a sewer to travel through. This was a fate they couldn't find a way out of. It was just a matter of time.

The four were settled around a campfire about three miles away from the sewer drop off. It had been an unspoken agreement to not speak about what they now knew or what they knew they would have to talk about on the way there. They had been silent, first focusing on putting distance between them and the herd they had narrowly escaped from. But now, the silence was over. They had to face the reality weighing down upon them.

This had been what she had wanted to avoid all along. After seeing so many hurt and killed, she couldn't handle being around people and growing to care for those she would just lose anyways. So, she had been alone. That had worked for a while. Life was hard, but it was simple. A constant routine. Scavenge for food, locate water, stay alive. It had been lonely, and often her thoughts would grow painful when forced to fill in the ever constant silence, but she had endured. She had survived, just as she promised she would. It was all that she had known how to do.

And then, everything changed. It had been as fast as a blink, but it had happened all the same. She was no longer alone. While she may have told herself she was just staying for a little while, and then maybe just a little longer after that, she knew she had grown attached. She had begun to care.

The pain was so much worse than she remembered.

"How long ago did it happen?"

Izzy blinked, dark eyes more water than pupil. Her arms tightened around the sweating form of her little brother. "Three days ago."

Three days. It had taken Jonathan five. It had taken others less. It was different for everyone how quickly the sickness spread, but they all ended up the same. They would all end up the same. Clary blinked, looking to Jace and Isabelle as the two argued. How long would it be before they were in Max's position? How long did any of them have left?

"What do you want to do?"

Both pairs of eyes turned to her. She had been silent up until now, shaken both from the shock of seeing her brother and seeing history repeat itself before her eyes. It hurt to speak. She had never felt that before. A physical pain that was ripped from her lungs and left to bleed, drop by drop.

"What—"

"I couldn't kill my brother. He was there, at the dumpster, with someone else's organs dripping from his mouth. Someone that would still be alive if I could have killed him when he told me to. I don't know how many he's killed because of me, or how many those he's killed have killed and so on. But even knowing that, I couldn't do it. I still can't kill him. So I can't stand here and tell you to kill him, because I know what it's like. It's your choice. But, you have to be able to live with it."

Max's breathing grew sharper as Isabelle let out a choked sob. She ripped her gaze from Clary back to her brother, who looked so much like her. Jace, who had been the one doing the majority of the yelling, now stilled. She couldn't bring herself to look at his face and see the way he must be looking at her—weak, pathetic—so she stared stonily ahead at Isabelle and Max.

"He's ten," Isabelle whispered finally, barely audible. "This—this shouldn't be happening. He doesn't deserve this! None of us do! Day in, day out, all we do is fight and bleed and heal so that we can fight and bleed the next day and then the day after that! What is it all for? What are we even living for?"

She paused for breath, swiping away furious tears. Clary had begun to step closer, but stopped by the return of the black haired girl's scathing words.

"This entire time we were searching for our lost brother. That's how Max got bitten. And now, we find out that the one who was supposed to take care of us is a traitor who left us for dead. But—it doesn't change anything. Max is still going to—"

She choked, looking down at the boy again.

"We have to." Like Clary, the words looked like they physically hurt Isabelle. "I can't lose my brother. But, I can't let him become one of those things."

The air surrounding the trio was filled with a static silence. Just like that, it had been decided.

"I'm so sorry Isabelle," Jace whispered hoarsely.

She didn't look up. Instead, she lifted his cracked glasses from his face, clutching them to her chest like a lifeline. "He deserves better," she murmured darkly. "He deserves a better death."

* * *

Hours later, they had settled around the campfire. After Max had woken up, terrified and sobbing while trapped inbetween hallucinations and reality, it had been decided the three would tell the boy stories of their lives from before. "I like stories," he had said. "You always know when they end."

She had told him about when Simon and Jonathan had first met and Simon had been so afraid that he had literally wet his pants. In retrospect, this had not done anything to improve Jonathan's opinion of Simon. Isabelle had told him of how, after he had been born, her and Alec had plotted to get rid of him in an effort to remain the favorites but the second they saw him, they loved him. At the mention of Alec, Max had squeezed Isabelle's hand gently. Clary bit her lip. She didn't know if their brother had survived the massacre on the mall. It had all been for his boyfriend, who was being held as a bargaining chip by Valentine. Would he still have left his siblings if he had known what would befall his brother hours later?

Thinking of Alec reminded her of the promise he had forced her to make. _"Please, just…please take care of them. Let them know that I'll come back for them when I can."_ A sorry job she had done so far. Not that there was anything that could be done in the first place. Max had been a lost cause before she had even met him, yet that didn't mean it hurt any less.

Jace shifted next to her, his knee brushing against her own. She blinked, looking to the boy who had been rather quiet thus far. "After my dad died, I joined a settlement that my uncle and his military squadron had put together when they had gotten word about the apocalypse. It had been good for a while. It was easy. There were about a hundred of us who worked for the community: farming, medical care, hunting for food, patroling the perimeter for survivors or groaners, etc. We didn't know what it was like outside the wall that fortified our camp. We didn't realize how bad it had gotten until about six months after the apocalypse began. Until Jocelyn."

Isabelle shifted uncomfortably at the change in topic. It had been somewhat of an unspoken rule thus far to tell stories of their _befores_. A time when things were happier to set Max at ease in his last moments. Of course, leave it to Jace to disregard the rules in their entirety. Max, however, looked to Jace with interest.

"Who's Jocelyn?" His throat sounded like it had been clawed to shreds by a bear. The three pretended not to notice.

"She's—she was—my aunt. Valentine's wife."

A hush descended upon the group. All eyes were upon Jace as realization sunk in. Valentine—the man he hated and feared, the man he had been running from, the man who had forced them into committing a massacre—was Jace's uncle. He shifted uncomfortably, guiltily, under their collective gazes before nodding softly. Suddenly, Clary understood why he had broken their rules. He felt responsible. Once more, he bore the weight of Valentine's actions as his own. As if he were the cause of the massacre they had been forced to commit and their subsequent near death by the herd. As if he were responsible for Clary being captured by Valentine.

And so, she said the only thing she could. "It's okay."

Jace turned to her, his knee bumping against her own. He smiled, small and real and for her. She smiled back. Somehow, three words had been enough. Though he still looked shaken, he turned back to Max. His knee stayed pressed against her own. Clary didn't know who it comforted the most. "She was always kind to me. Valentine used to be too. My father had died and he had found me, just before my own father was about to kill me with him. He saved me and took me in as if I were his own son. And, despite what was going on outside, despite having lost my father and my friends, it didn't feel as if I had lost too much because I still had them. It was a democracy at first, but then people started getting more scared. Someone had to step up, so Valentine was elected. We would try to help people we found on the outside at first, but then the apocalypse kept going. First we started turning people away, then choices had to be made within the camp and it progressed from there. 'Everything I am doing is for my family,' he had said. But it wasn't. It was for himself. We were just an excuse," Jace looked up from his fiddling hands directly and looked pointedly at Isabelle and Max. "That—that wasn't family. Not really. The love you two have for each other beat the apocalypse. You could have let it change you and harden you, twisting your love into yet another form of survival, but you didn't. You stayed human until the end."

Max smiled back at Jace, his weak form beaming with pride. That was what he needed. To be assured that his death wouldn't be because he was too weak for the apocalypse, but that he, a small ten year old boy, hadn't failed. Isabelle had streaks of silent tears trailing down her face, but she looked to Jace gratefully. Clary felt her throat tighten at the sight. It became clear to her now what she had to do, before it was too late.

"You should know, that love goes for Alec too." Isabelle's gaze snapped to her, a warning clear in her eyes. Clary swallowed. "He made me promise to tell you that he never wanted to be on Valentine's side. His boyfriend is being threatened by Valentine and the only way to protect him was to do what he said. He never meant to betray you two. He—"

Clary paused, letting out a breath.

"He was good. And, I think he made it out of the mall."

It was hard to tell what Isabelle was thinking throughout the silence. She was lost in thought, tears now streaking down her face more slowly. The silence was finally broken by a barely audible voice mumbling, "I told you so." Isabelle chuckled, smiling down at the small boy through her tears as she stroked his hair.

"Yeah, you did," she whispered. "You always were the smartest little kid."

He smiled back at her, though he was quickly fading into sleep. Isabelle mouthed a 'thank you' to Clary. She let out a sigh of relief. The three descended into a comfortable silence, simply staring at the flames twisting in front of them. How could something so beautiful be so destructive, Clary often wondered, though she already knew the answer. Burning bright organic matter that came from the earth and was capable of destruction, but always burned itself out eventually, no matter how big the flames. People were the same.

Clary thought of Max. He was just a flickering candle. One whose glow was bright enough to lend light to those around, but had been so easy to snuff out. Isabelle's hands were weaving their way through his hair, but for how much longer? She found herself wishing he would just turn already so they could get it over with. It was sick and revolting, she knew, but the waiting was the worst part. She found herself grateful for the first time that she had been able to deny what had been happening to Jonathan. It had been easier to pretend than it was to now know exactly what was happening and be able to do absolutely nothing. The fire was still burning but all she felt was cold.

The only warmth she felt was the spot where her and Jace's knees were still pressed together. It was so simple, even unintentional, but she was surprised at how it managed to comfort her even the slightest. She nudged him with her knee. He looked up immediately, his eyes meeting her own. There was still so much she didn't know about him. Especially after their run in at the mall. It was almost strange to remember how angry she had been with him just hours beforehand, when all she had wanted was answers and she had thought they would all survive the day. Her anger had fizzled out in light of everything. Yet, that didn't mean her curiosity had died with it. His story earlier had been a way of trying to make up for the secrets, she knew, but she wanted to know more.

"Who's Kaelie?" Her voice was a quiet murmur, but she knew Jace had heard every word by the way he stiffened. "In the mall, Valentine said I reminded him of her. Who is…or was she?"

The apocalypse hadn't just destroyed the majority of the world's population. With it, it took basic grammar rules. There was never a way to be certain what was the past and what was the present. Grammar nazis would be having an aneurism if they weren't too busy tearing people's guts out as members of the eternal undead. Jace cleared his throat, long eyelashes dropping to brush against his cheekbones.

"Is…was…I don't even know for sure anymore." The thought seemed to physically bother him. As if he had done something wrong. "It's better to think of her as the past though, because what I knew of her is gone whether or not she's alive."

Isabelle was listening in now too. Jace let out a breath. "After Jocelyn died, Valentine became obsessed. He wanted to create a stronger race, one made of survivors who could thrive in the new world. The apocalypse wasn't showing any signs of being over anytime soon so he decided if the human race was going to survive, they needed to evolve. Darwin would approve, I suppose. He was able to convince others of his ideas, twisting them for his I found out what he was really doing: to create a race strong enough to survive the apocalypse, he was mixing their blood with the blood of lame brains."

Clary felt like she was going to be sick. For so long, the zombies had represented everything she could hate. To survive had been all she had ever known for a long time. Yet, never would she stoop to so low trying to survive that she would be willing to put that evil inside of her.

"Oh my god," Isabelle murmured. Clary was pretty sure God had nothing to do with it. If there was a God at all, she knew there certainly wasn't one now. What God would allow a ten year old child to die in this hellscape?

"Kaelie was strong and beautiful. She had been the daughter of one of my uncle's military friends. We had known each other all of our lives, but it wasn't until we were spending every day together in the sanctuary that I began to love her," Jace fixed his gaze firmly on the fire. Her knee lightly tapped against his, a silent form of letting him know it would be okay. He continued.

"She was a military brat, used to following orders. Valentine used this against her and made her his experiment. She became twisted and turned into something that couldn't be considered human."

He looked up from the fire to Clary. "That's why I knew I couldn't let you walk out of my life, even though you stole from me. I saw her in you. Brash, stubborn, fierce. Real."

She swallowed, her brow furrowing. "Do you…think I would do that?"

He shook his head fiercely. "Not a chance. Kaelie…she wanted to be special and approved of, no matter who around her got hurt. You may not admit it, even to yourself, but you care about people, Clary."

She smiled softly back at him, almost forgetting the reality of the world around them. Her smile faded once she heard the familiar sound of groaning. Both Clary and Jace turned to Max, whose snowy complexion had taken on a new greenish pallor as he began to stir within the arms of a sobbing Isabelle.

"Isabelle, get away from him. You don't need to be here for this." Jace had stood up, prepared to escort her away from the campsite but she shook her head firmly.

"I should be the one to…I have to do this." Her voice came out as nothing but a whisper, but Clary still felt chills run down her spine at the steel in her voice. No longer did she see the girl who tried to use a plastic hairbrush against a zombie. In her place was the girl who had struck the base of her heel through it's skull. Clary didn't know how to feel about the change that she knew was permanent.

"Isabelle," Jace tried again but Clary stopped him. "Give her a knife."

He swallowed roughly, but nodded. This would change her, they knew. Jace withdrew a blade from his pocket and handed it to Isabelle just as Max's eyes flashed open. Though, Clary knew the thing that had just awoken was no longer Max. Isabelle had a hand holding the zombie's chest down, but it continued to snap at her hungrily. She choked, whispering something to the corpse of her brother before she brought the knife down. It went slack in her arms.

 _"_ _I lost everything that held me to my old life, and when you lose those ties, you lose who you were. Be grateful you don't know what that's like, and pray you never find out,"_ Clary remembered telling Isabelle. As the girl's agonized cries rang out through the forest, she knew Isabelle's ties had been shattered irreversably. A pang ran through her. No longer would the girl before her look longingly at shoes and bralettes thinking of a simpler life. The apocalypse had taken another victim.

No matter how many stories they told around a campfire, there was no going back for any of them.

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 **You guys are consistently surpassing the twelve reviews within like a day, so I think I'm going to have to expand it to make sure that I'm not publishing like five chapters a day. You are all insane, I love you.**

 **So obviously there were a lot of strong reactions to last chapter, more specifically Max's death. I can't tell you whether anyone else dies or not, obviously, but I can tell you that it all has a purpose to it. A purpose that you will see begin unfolding in the next chapter.**

 **On a totally unrelated note, how has the Shadowhunters tv show not been cancelled? It might be one of the most ungodly, horribly written and acted shows I've ever seen. Malec isn't bad in it though, at least. But Clace? Ouch.**

 **But speaking of Clace...**

 **See ya next chapter!**


	13. Keep Going

**I've been hitting you guys with a nonstop streak of emotional chapters. I'm sorry to say that this chapter is no exception to this trend, but while heavy, it is** **important. So important that while this originally was combined with the next chapter, I felt it deserved to stand on it's own. You'll see why.**

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Sometimes Clary regretted ever having been born. It sounded melodramatic, sure. If Jonathan were there, he would have mockingly joked about having thought she was past her angsty teenager phase. But, she figured she deserved a pass to be a little melodramatic considering she had survived the apocalypse for…

She had lost count. She used to keep count of the time that had passed since it all began. That was when the length since the apocalypse began meant something. Now, they were just another day. She supposed around the time she had met Jace was when she had begun to lose count. This didn't make her loss of structure any less disconcerting. The sun would fall, then night would come, and the sun would rise again in a cycle that existed purely to mock them. It will never be over, it says. You try to get through the days, but the days will never stop. The days will last long after you.

How many days had it been since Max had died? Clary no longer knew. Weeks? A month? More? The days all looked the same. They were often filled with quiet whispers and a bulbous weight sitting lodged upon their collective chests. She knew that not a long enough time had passed to make the reminder of his death no longer hurt. Was any time enough to heal wounds like those? It had gotten easier. On some days they had even managed to laugh without feeling guilty for feeling any joy when Max was no longer there to feel it too.

They had kept themselves busy, and Clary knew this was undoubtedly intentional. The busier they were, the more distracted they would be. Silence was the worst thing they could do. Silence allowed you to think. Thinking allowed you to remember. Remembering brought nothing good. Each day, they would pack up their supplies and keep moving until the light began to glow a bright gold, signaling that it was close to setting, and they would find a place to set up camp. Jace was still afraid of Valentine finding them again, she knew. That was why they kept moving. She suspected it also had something to do with a craving for a routine to focus on something other than the fact that there was now three and not four. That was why she had never protested each time he insisted on moving camp. She knew Valentine and his men were dead—she had heard their screams and seen their guts hit the floor—but she relented.

He needed this and, to be quite honest, he wasn't the only one. Clary allowed her eyes to flicker to Isabelle. After the girl had done what Clary had never been able to by killing her brother, Clary had made it a personal responsibility to watch her. Isabelle now had scars that would never truly heal. It would change her. But, unlike Clary, she wasn't alone. She felt personally repsonsible to make sure Isabelle didn't go down a path that would destroy her.

Because that was how the apocalypse worked. It wasn't the zombies that posed the most danger to survivors. They were just an additional complication within their lives. It was the people that could destroy you. You're never given a chance to mourn. When someone you love dies, the apocalypse doesn't give you a break. You still have to survive and fight and go on. More had died from not being able to handle it than from not being able to outrun a zombie. You get angry. Many become reckless. Or, you just give up entirely. Clary had managed to keep fighting after Jonathan's death because she had made a promise that she would keep fighting. There was no way of knowing what Isabelle would do.

Jace had said she was getting better. As Clary watched her, she wanted to agree with him. She no longer seemed as depressed as she had been since Max's death. Now, she gave off an impression of calm. It had been sudden, but it was there. She was fighting again. In fact, when they came across a zombie she was often the first to attack, sporting a bloodthirsty grin. More often than not she would jump into a fight and take the kill before Jace and Clary would even have time to assist. Yet, something nagged at Clary. So she continued to watch. Isabelle had snarled at her the last time she caught Clary observing her, spitting a nasty remark about how she wasn't about to drop dead if left alone for two seconds. Still, Clary kept on.

"You're going to drive both of you crazy if you keep on looking at her as if you're waiting to see her break down," Jace whispered to her that night as they settled around a campfire. Isabelle had offered them a halfhearted goodnight before retreating into her tent. Clary suspected it was more of an excuse to get away from Clary. She knew that Isabelle hadn't been sleeping more than a few hours a night, if even that, and the sun had barely set.

"She's hiding something," Clary muttered back, stubbornly gazing back at him. They had been growing closer over the course of the past few weeks. With Isabelle mostly keeping to herself, Jace and Clary had been leaning on each other for support. It was new, but not unpleasant. She found herself looking forward to the nights where everything was quiet and the two would just talk underneath a blanket of stars. It was the closest she had felt to _before_. Yet, something felt different about tonight.

"People react differently to death." His gaze grew softer. "Just because she is acting differently than you did after Jonathan doesn't mean she's hiding something. It just means she's dealing with things in her own way."

And that's what all this was about, wasn't it? She couldn't remember how many days it had been since Jonathan had died, but she remembered the aftermath she had faced. She wasn't strong then and she had never been on her own. There was no way of knowing the full reality of the apocalypse. She couldn't remember sleeping in the first few weeks. What she did remember were the mood swings. One moment she would be wallowing in self pity and hopelessness, the next she would flip to unadulterated rage. At the world, herself, Simon, it never really seemed to matter. She just felt it. Clary was trapped within a cage she had made all on her own, withdrawn from the world and all its survivors. She got reckless too, though how much of that was from mourning or just from her personality she couldn't be sure. Her life revolved around honoring her brother by keeping her promise and doing whatever it took to survive.

Clary remembered every detail of what she had gone through. The effects had never totally gone away, and still impacted her. And so, watching Isabelle's reaction vary so drastically sent off all kinds of red flags.

"Maybe you're right." The words felt like poison in her mouth. "Maybe I've been trying to force my own experience on her instead of letting her handle it in her own way."

Jace's eyes widened momentarily, as if surprised she had come to the conclusion without argument. Then, he smiled proudly.

"She just needs time," he said. "You were alone when you lost Jonathan. She isn't. It makes a difference. After my dad died, being in the community made it easier. They had even set up support groups to help people confront their loss. It'll take time, but she's strong."

Clary nodded absently. Her gaze shifted to the duffel bags of supplies at Jace's feet.

"How's inventory coming?"

Jace had insisted on being the one to count their supplies each night. He said it was because he liked the organization of it, but Clary had a suspicion that a part of him still worried about her running off with the supplies again. Jace shrugged, giving her a look that told her he knew that she was trying to shift the subject but he didn't actually mind.

"Fine, but—" he paused, frowning thoughtfully "—did you lose a handgun when we went up against those lame brains by the creek?"

"No. Why?"

He pursed his lips together in a fine line before breathing out. "Well, normally ammo is near impossible to keep track of so that's not exactly new, but we're also missing a .44 caliber handgun. It's weird because the hand guns are more of back ups to the rifles anyways so I don't know when it would have gone missing."

He shook his head, as if he could shake the bad thoughts away. "Maybe Isabelle has it. I'll check with her in the morning."

"I can ask her."

Jace gave her a look which silently asked: _You sure?_ She nodded firmly.

"I want to apologize anyways about how I've been treating her like a live wire."

He nodded, seeming pleased with the decision before closing the zipper on the duffels and standing up.

"I'm going to get to bed. As always, you're free to join me if you hear something go bump in the night."

She rolled her eyes, used to this routine. The two had made a game out of the casual banter.

"It's _not_ wanting to hear something go bump in the night that makes me stay as far away from your tent as possible."

He grinned at her widely. Through the glow of the fire, his chipped tooth shined brightly at her. "Ah, so you would want to be in my tent otherwise."

She scoffed, which only seemed to encourage him. "In your dreams."

Jace wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Oh, you know you will be."

It brought her back to her first night with him, before everything had changed so drastically. There was no Valentine, no herd, no Max. There were only two survivors who found each other in a world they had been abandoned by, taking a moment of pleasure in one another's company. Reality had been forced to return the morning after, when she had stolen his stuff, but that night was pure. And, just like that night, and those that had followed, she bid him a good night.

"Sleep well," he would always return with a slight smile.

And then, the two would finish, "we'll probably be dead by morning."

He departed then, leaving Clary alone with her thoughts. Moments would pass before she would recognize the reality of those words while standing to apologize to Isabelle. Somehow, she knew before opening the flap of the tent that Isabelle would not be inside. Nothing was out of place. There was nothing that would suggest anything was wrong. _Isabelle could just be going for a walk_ , Jace would have told her. _She's not a prisoner._ But Clary saw Max's glasses lying askew on Isabelle's sleeping bag and the feeling of wrongness in her gut returned.

It was like electricity had set her body aflame. She burst from the tent, not allowing a moment to spare and forced her body forwards into the woods. _Where would I go if I didn't want to be found_ , Clary questioned, _because I didn't want to risk being interrupted, but where I would eventually want to be found?_

She pushed her body faster. The pieces connected as she ran. Once more, an unwelcome reality forced itself upon her. She just had to hope she had enough time.

Clary found Isabelle by the river, furiously scribbling upon a piece of paper as tears ran down her face. Clary's eyes locked upon the missing handgun lying at the girl's side. She slowed to a stop, holding her hands up as a gesture of peace. Isabelle was startled, drawing her eyes wide and looking at Clary in a panic. Her hand twitched closer to the gun.

Clary swallowed.

"How'd you find me?" The words came out as an accusation. Instead of asking how, it seemed more like questioning why. _Why would you find me? Why not just leave me be?_

"Once I figured it out I thought of where I would go," Clary replied softly. She was doing all she could to not try to spook the girl in front of her. Her eyes narrowed at Clary, though they lacked energy. She just looked tired.

"And what is it that you think you've figured out?" Her words were filled with malice. Clary brushed it off. She recognized it for what it was: a defense mechanism.

"I've met a lot of people and heard a lot of stories of those who didn't make. While something about your behavior seemed off to me, it also seemed familiar. The sudden calmness, the withdrawl, the reckless behavior. Now I realize why."

"You don't know anything," she snarled.

"I know you want to die."

There was something about the words being said out loud that seemed to physically affect the girl. Saying them aloud made them real. It was no longer a silent plan. Now it was reality; a physical pressing weight against her. She flinched.

"What's wrong, Izzy? Does saying it out loud hurt? Does it make it harder to breathe?"

She gave a slow nod, her eyes on the ground. Clary's gaze softened. She wanted to be angry with her, to berate her for having the audacity to just _give up_. To tell her to stop being so weak. But, that wasn't true. She was in pain. She was hurting. Her world had collapsed right from under her. It wasn't her fault.

"I—I can't just keep going on pretending everything is okay when it isn't. Both of my brothers have left me. They—they made it bearable, but without them, there's just—what's the point in continuing alone? Nobody would care if I died." Her voice broke off at the end and a new wave of tears began pouring down her face. Clary slowly moved closer. Isabelle flinched, but didn't try to stop her. That was a good sign, at least. Clary went to her knees in front of Isabelle, but not so close as to spook her.

"People would care. Jace and I…we care about you. We're here for you. We can help you, no matter what you need, _we are here for you_. All you have to do is let us. " Clary looked in the girl's eyes, trying to prove she was telling the truth. They softened for a moment before freezing entirely.

"Oh and what would _you_ know," she spat. "You act like you know everything. Like you're some expert on all things apocalypse. And, you know, for a while I believed it. I wanted to believe that we'd be safe with you, that you knew what you were doing, but you're so full of shit. How am I supposed to keep going when you can't even kill your brother? You may act strong, but you're _weak_."

Clary clenched her jaw tightly, trying to not let it show that the girl had struck a nerve. She knew she had failed by the way Isabelle smirked at her. Like she had won. Clary straightened, hardening herself.

"Yes, I'm weak. We all are, Isabelle. And that's okay, because even though I'm weak I've survived this long and I did it on my own," Isabelle recoiled at the ferocity in her tone but Clary wasn't done yet. "I may not know everything, but I do know how to survive. You don't have to pretend you're okay, but you have to keep going in spite of it. Now, if you want to die? If you think you can't keep going? Then go ahead. I won't let you put us in danger because you have a death wish."

Clary let out a breath, feeling some of her anger dissipate. "I won't force you to live if you can't keep going. After my brother died, I wanted to die too. But I knew I couldn't and it kept me going."

Isabelle swallowed roughly. Slowly, she brought her gaze up to meet Clary's. "What made you keep going?"

 _I thought you didn't care what I had to say_ , Clary wanted to respond, but thought against it. Now wasn't the time. Now wasn't about her or her own feelings. It was about the girl in front of her who was severely in pain.

Instead she responded, "When my brother died, he made me promise him that I would keep fighting. He told me that I had to survive. I couldn't kill him, so I honored him by keeping my promise. That gave me something to live for. You have to find that purpose that keeps you going, despite all the horrors that surround you."

Isabelle paused, looking from Clary to the gun that her fingers had unconsciously brushed over. She tightened her grip on the gun. Clary's throat grew tight. _Please_ , her mind whispered. Without looking at her, Isabelle murmured so low she could barely hear her, "I don't want to die, I just don't want to live while I feel so dead inside."

Clary said nothing. Instead, she allowed the silence to engulf them, to bury them within its muffled grasp. And in the silence, Isabelle let out another shaky breath before continuing.

"I…I think I want to find my brother. Alec might still be out there and if he is, he's all I have left."

And slowly, Isabelle moved to give Clary the gun. Her hands shook violently. Clary quickly took the gun from her and set it carefully behind her before engulfing her in a hug. Isabelle immediately sunk into the embrace, burying her cheek in Clary's shoulder. Her chest quaked and Clary's shoulder was growing soaked, but she didn't care. She continued to hold onto Isabelle, allowing the girl to cry all she needed until night shifted into day.

"We can help you," Clary had promised at some point during the night.

She had whispered back a thank you. Clary knew that the gesture wasn't for offering to help find her brother, but for everything else that occurred that night. She responded with a small you're welcome. And as the night carried on, she couldn't help but think that somewhere out there, she liked to believe that Max and Jonathan were together. And they were proud.

* * *

 **I began writing on this site when I was twelve years old, but as I've grown up and found my way back here, I feel now I possess the age and maturity to go into semi-adult lecture mode within such a serious and important topic.**

 **This chapter was not originally in my outline for this story, but evolved with the story. And I was somewhat hesitant to post this, as I know some of you reading this may be at an especially vulnerable time where the topic of suicide is especially pertinent. So, despite not wanting to give spoilers for this story and the fate of the characters, I will give you one: Isabelle lives. And though she is at rock bottom now, she will overcome and live a happy life.**

 **And, while this story has been a bit depressing lately, the next chapter will make up for all of that. I promise.**

 **Instead of doing my usual spiel about reviews and blah blah blah, I am going to say that if any of you ever need anyone to talk to, feel free to message me. There are also plenty of resources that I can send if you are interested.**

 **Until next time,**

 **-Anika**


	14. Clary and Jace

**Well, I have an essay that is due in about 4 hours that I have been successfully avoiding, updating this story being clear proof. So I better get a lot of reviews for this chapter after putting my grades at risk, like the benevolent author I truly am. I imagine you guys are going to have a lot to say after this chapter anyways so that shouldn't be too difficult. Anyways, enough stalling and on to a well deserved break from the sadness into a chapter I've been waiting for SO DAMN LONG to share with all of you.**

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Sometimes Clary was grateful to be alive.

She no longer knew how long it had been since humans had been dismantled from their thrones, but it had been long enough for her to now know she had never truly seen the stars. Without any people to operate machinery and power grids, light pollution had decreased exponentially. Each night, as the three settled after a particularly long day's walk in search of Isabelle's brother, Clary could see the galaxy stretched out before her. _You've earned this_ , the stars said to her. _You may be stuck living in fear for your life at each moment, but you get to see the Earth as it was always supposed to be._ It was her own reward for surviving. You make it through the day, and then you get to see the stars. It had carried her through in particularly bad moments when it almost didn't seem worth it.

Isabelle, too, had taken on a penchant for watching the stars after their night on the river. Clary had long lost count of the days, but if she had to guess, they had been searching for a trace of Alec for near two weeks now. Jace hadn't been thrilled when Clary had marched into his tent and—after she got him to realize that she wasn't in his tent for what he hoped she was—told him their new mission. _What if we go looking for Alec and find Valentine instead?_ He had argued. But, after quietly whispering the events of her and Isabelle's time by the river to him, he had sobered and quietly consented. They had been searching ever since. The mall was obviously no longer an option after the herd, but they had gotten near enough to its outskirts to check for any traces of survivors. They had been following that trail for the past few days. Each day was filled with the heady scent of their own sweat under the sun's intense glare and the cumbersome weight of their packs. Clary wasn't used to carrying so many supplies—it made it more difficult to run—but she had to admit it made things easier. And then, the nights would come and they all would let out a relieved sigh. They hadn't yet found Alec, but they had survived the day to see the stars.

"Penny for your thoughts," a voice spoke from behind Clary, reminding her that while she loved the nights for its stars, she hated them for their silence. When it got quiet, she would be alone with her thoughts.

"Sometimes my thoughts feel more dangerous than the apocalypse," she responded dryly. They had the power to hurt her so easily with so little and she was powerless to stop them.

Jace sat down beside her, as per their routine during the nights. "I'm pretty sure everything about you is dangerous," he smirked at her blindingly. Her lips quirked up in a smile as she shifted to look at him. "So, what are these thoughts that have been haunting you so terribly? Need me to beat them up?"

She laughed softly. That had been his intention, after all. To make her feel better. Still, the pit she felt inside of her every night throbbed. She knew why. Clary briefly looked up and scanned their surroundings for the girl in question, though she knew she had already gone to sleep before she would have to get up for the last watch. Ever since her encounter with Isabelle down by the river, her mind had been allowed to run rampant. Before, she had been so focused on Isabelle's pain and struggles to deal with Max's death that she had ignored her own.

"I just…have no idea what I'm doing," she whispered. "I'm not used to being with people. I…I don't handle things—death—well. So I didn't let myself get close to people. Until I did. And now Max is dead and I don't even know how I'm supposed to deal with it anymore. I can keep myself busy during the days, and when I'm trying to help Isabelle, but then at night I don't have any more distractions and it becomes real."

He was quiet for a moment before he said softly, "I'm glad you stayed after he turned."

It was simple and though Clary knew there was more to be said, he had kept it concise. It was so unlike him. For as long as she had known him—which, admittedly wasn't very long but felt so within the context of the apocalypse—he was full of sharp quips and wicked smirks. There was always a layer that he kept buried, though even that had begun to be chipped away in the time that had passed since their encounter with Valentine. This was real, though. It was a rawness that felt foreign and comfortable all the same.

Mirroring the same softness that he possessed, she asked, "did you think I would?"

It was somewhat of a challenge, as many of their interactions were. They toyed with one another, but at the moment Jace wasn't playing. Rather than antying up the stakes, he continued to stare at her with open amber eyes.

"I hoped you wouldn't," he replied, seemingly closer now. She swallowed. Her fingers had subconsciously begun toying with a frayed piece of string on the edge of her sleeve.

"The reason…the reason I had left and kept moving was that it hurt too much to get attached and lose people. But, when I saw Alec, Isabelle, and Max…it may have been painful to lose Max, but she was able to be with him in the end and she has us to help her get her through it now. Alec is on his own though. He'll never have had those final moments and he has no one to help him through it."

She paused for a moment, forcing herself away from the frayed string. Then she continued, more firmly this time, "Sometimes it's easy to forget that people still died before the apocalypse. Yet, they made it through and a lot of that is because people had others to lean on for support. I've begun to realize that it hurts just as much to be alone."

He smiled at her then—a genuine smile that made her feel as if she had finally done something right. Suddenly, he shifted and the spot next to her where he had been was empty and she was left feeling a burst of cold. Had they really been sitting that close that just the absence of him sent her body into an arctic bath? He appeared a moment later out from one of the duffel bags, his hands clasped behind his back and a dizzying grin on his face. She liked it when he smiled like that, she had decided. It made her feel all sorts of feelings after going so long not feeling much of anything.

"I made you something," he sounded suddenly nervous. She rose an eyebrow and straightened. That was unusual.

"Jace," she mock chastised, though on the inside her nerves were alight. "Don't you know that cheesy mixtapes are _so_ last apocalypse."

"So I've been told," he teased back. "Which is why I got you something else."

Clary felt all of her breath leave her in a whoosh the moment he revealed what was behind his back.

A stake. A brand new stake that was devoid of any blood stains or scratches. Its smooth surface was only marred by the initials that had been carved into the base: C + J. Her mouth had fallen open of its own accord, but she couldn't help but laugh at the sight of the initials. Something new was fluttering inside her as she looked up at him.

"You did this for me?" Her face was a picture of amazement as she beamed at him. "You made me a stake?"

If she didn't know any better, she would think he appeared rather bashful. But she did know better. Jace Herondale wouldn't want to miss an opportunity to gloat or brag about an accomplishment. And yet…

"I knew that losing Mr. Pointy was hard for you. And, while I know that it's not the same as the one your brother made you, I—"

She cut him off.

"You made me a stake," she repeated.

Slowly, he nodded. Not a second passed before she had tackled him in a hug, murmuring a chanting of thank yous into the hollow of his neck. He stumbled for a moment in surprise. A beat passed before strong arms snaked around her and crushed her tighter against his body. She could just barely catch the breath of a you're welcome that fluttered above her ear, ticking her skin. They stayed like that until Clary could no longer contain whatever it was that was bouncing about within her. She pushed him away slightly, not enough that he would let her go but enough so that she could see his face.

"I—" she shook her head briefly, the words dying on her tongue. "That's so much better than a cheesy mixtape."

"Just you wait. One day I'll make you a mixtape that'll be so epic it makes the lame brains start moshing."

She laughed. Thinking of a future with him by her side no longer seemed to terrify her. It just felt right. She didn't exactly know what role he would hold at her side, or whatever that seemed to entail, but she knew that she wanted him right there beside her. Because when he was there, she no longer saw just the zombies or the pain, but she was finally able to see the stars again.

Gingerly, she took the stake from his hands and ran her hands across its smooth surface. She released a heavy groan.

"God I can't wait to kill something with this," she breathed. "I'm going to name it Mr. Pokey." He chuckled from beside her, no longer holding her, and suddenly he was looking at her just as he had during their reunion after escaping from Valentine. She blinked. Clary remembered thinking then that it was a look that didn't seem allowed in the apocalypse. This seemed even more illegal, somehow. She couldn't quite place it, but she felt herself growing warm nonetheless.

"I'm going to go put this in with the other weapons for now," she told him, a girly smile still in place, partly to distract herself from the torrent of emotions running through her. She had just turned and reached for the still slightly open bag when Jace seemed to spur into action. He sounded distressed as he called out, "wait!"

For a moment, a flash of hurt ran through her. She had figured long ago that Jace always insisted on being the one to do the inventory because he was worried that she would leave again with the stuff, but she had told him that she was staying. Then she looked down and it all clicked into place. She stared dumbly into the bag's contents where various bottles of liquor and a good amount of condoms rested. Jace cursed from behind her.

"You see, I can explain—"

Clary almost wanted to laugh. All this time she had assumed he didn't trust her to do inventory, really he just didn't want her to see the 'unregulated' supplies he had picked up. And, as Clary happened to see from the label on the condoms, it seemed Jace's ego hadn't been totally unsubstantiated.

"—wasn't trying to pull anything, I just figured it was better to be safe than—"

She spun on her heel, looking up at him with a smirk. He stopped babbling, though his face was a pleasing shade of red.

"Jace, shut up," she hushed with a roll of her eyes. There was something else there too; something in her voice that surprised even her. "Just shut up and let's go to your tent."

It took him a moment to realize what she was implying. Once he did, his eyes blew wide and his stance changed completely from defensive to excited.

"Are you sure? We don't have to if—"

For the second time that night, she hushed him. This time, by pressing her lips to his own. He responded instantly, gently, before becoming lost within the sensation. _I'm sure_ , she responded with her lips as she leaned in, pulling him closer by his shirt. _I've never been surer than when I'm with you._ She felt him smile against her lips. She smiled back. They had been dancing around each other ever since their first meeting, yet they were always meant to be where they were right then. The wait had been worth it. She had been afraid for so long, but she wasn't afraid now.

With a sigh, she tore herself from him and breathed, "so are you going to take me to your tent or have you just been all talk?"

He swept her up, grabbed the duffel, and closed the zipper of the tent in record time.

It was the first night either of them had slept without any nightmares. And so, Jace's side felt particularly cold when he woke up in his tent alone, the only sign that she had been there at all the empty liquor bottle and his state of undress.

* * *

 **So, when I give you Clace, I go all out. To be clear, this story isn't going to full M, (although there have been some scenes that maybe should have been) but there will be some non-graphic flashes next chapter on Jace and Clary's night together. Where they have the sex.**

 **Unrelated, I listened to the Heathers musical last night, because I'm a giant nerd, and there's this song "Meant to Be Yours" and as I was listening to it I was just like, "Woah, this is giving me serious Sebastian Clary vibes". And now I need someone to write a Heathers AU with Sebastian as JD and Clary as Veronica, but a Veronica that dates Jace because I need my Clace.**

 **Oh wait, are you guys still here? Are you wondering what's going on in that last sentence? Wellllll...I guess you'll have to review so I can update and give you the chapter that will change the entire direction for this story.**


	15. Turbulence

**I have one last chapter to write in this story before I am finally finished, only two thousand or so words, but how that chapter ends up will all depend on this chapter. This chapter, otherwise known as the reason this story became an actual story rather than just a one shot. So that's pretty surreal. As for how much you guys have to read, this is like the end of Act 2 out of 3 Acts, so you've still got a bit to go. I'm glad you guys enjoyed the Clace last chapter and hope you enjoy what is in this just as much, if not more.**

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It was quiet when Jace awoke.

Static filled his ears as he stared at the rumpled bedding underneath him. It was empty; lost was the expanse of creamy pearl skin that had been tangled up within them earlier. The silence felt jarring to him, as he remembered just hours ago when they were anything but.

She had been lying on top of his chest, sweaty, panting, and naked. Her finger was tracing absentminded circles on his chest as they filled the tent with quiet murmurs and hushed laughter. He smiled lazily back at her, knowing that he had never been a cuddler and kicking himself for not knowing what he had been missing all these years. He had never been the guy that felt the need to stay up with a girl after the job was done and just talk. The girls he usually went for never seemed to have much interesting to say anyway. Even with Kaelie, they had never stayed up, wrapped in one another's arms and just talked. While they loved each other, they both also loved their own space. He had never known how good it could be until now.

Clary was warm. He felt the urge to hold her tighter to him, as tight as he could and never let go. Just being near her, wrapped in a tangled jumble of limbs, made him feel whole. Jace couldn't remember the last time he had felt peace. But he knew, he felt it now. It was as if the world full of lame brains and corrupt humans hunting them no longer existed. He was safe, he was healed, because Clary was there and Clary was warm. And she was smiling. He loved seeing her smile. After all they had been through and all that they had to go through to get to where they were now, seeing her smile reminded him of how far they had come together.

"I used to want to be an artist," she breathed into his chest, her warm breath fanning upon his flesh like a kiss. Their topics of conversation had shifted sporadically throughout the night. Clary had told him about how she had first met Simon at an art gallery of hers when he had insisted she had taken inspiration from a comic series he liked and she nearly slapped him for the insinuation (even though he had been right). In turn, he told her about how his mom had died when he was just a little kid. It had seemed sad then, but now he was glad she hadn't made it to witness what the world—and her son—had become.

"She'd be proud of you," she had murmured sleepily. "When you aren't being super annoying, that is." And he had smiled, and nudged her playfully, and wished his mother could have at least met her.

"Do you ever think about what it would've been like if we had met before?" The fantasy had plagued Jace's thoughts like a pesky fly that couldn't be swatted off. Clary's brother had lived in his hometown and she went to school in the city only an hour or so away. How many times had their paths so closely intertwined?

Clary shook her head though. "We wouldn't have been the same people as we are now."

And Jace knew she was right. Before Clary had been helpless and he had been hopeless. If they had met back then, they would have brushed the other off and gone their separate ways. As sick as it was, the only way they ever could have been together was through the apocalypse. So many had died for them to be where and who they were now.

"In that case, I guess we better make the most of this fucked up world." His breathing grew labored as Clary began to kiss up and down his neck. Slowly. Wetly. Was that tongue? He looked at her sharply and by god, did he feel warm from that smirk she was shooting him. The blanket had suspiciously fallen down, exposing just the right places. He heard his blood pump in his ears. Her shit eating grin grew wider.

"Well, what are you waiting for, Herondale?" She clucked teasingly. "Carpe Diem, right?"

He loved her. It wasn't something that needed to be said or confirmed. It just was. How long had he known? It seemed his love for her was as entangled up with her as the two were locked in their embrace. He didn't know where she ended and he began just as he didn't know where his love for her ended and began.

The apocalypse had taken everything from them, but it couldn't take love. That was theirs. Their love was a giant middle finger to the universe. She loved him too, he knew. It wasn't something that needed to be said. When every moment could be your last, there was no point in wasting time saying what they already knew. Everything they did was a testament—from the way their eyes would go to one another first in a battle or the ways they would gravitate towards each other.

She moaned beneath him, and he paused to take her in. He wanted to remember this. Her red tinged cheeks that matched her hair, her glazed eyes that rolled upwards, the exact curves of her body that felt smooth against his skin, despite every scar which only made him love her more. Survivors knew that life was never guaranteed in the apocalypse. You had to make every moment last. He intended to make every moment with her last. And, as he thought of a future with her by his side, he remembered what it was like to be happy. He was happy. When was the last time that happened?

He continued to stare. And as he finally descended within her because he loved her, he knew the apocalypse no longer felt like one. It was as if life had returned. And suddenly, things weren't so bad.

Later, as they began to finally drift into sleep, he whispered, "good night" and she responded with a sleepy smirk, "sleep well". But instead of continuing with the usual ending, he found himself whispering, "I'll see you in the morning." Because he knew they had come this far. They could survive whatever else life threw at them.

If he had known that by morning, the girl in his arms would be gone, he never would have allowed sleep to consume him.

He clutched the sheets, feeling cold in the face of her absence. She had left, despite saying she wouldn't. He had fallen for it all over again. He had been lying awake for an hour, too afraid to go outside the tent for what might lie on the other side. Would he see his stuff gone? Would it then be real?

Or, maybe he was freaking himself out over nothing. Maybe Clary was just on the other side of that tent, being subjected to the knowing taunts of Isabelle over the source of the noises last night. Yes, that must be it. He quickly set about pulling on his clothes and looking somewhat presentable to exit the tent. She was just on the other side, ready to tease him with some comment about how long he had slept. "Well it looks like sleeping beauty has finally decided to grace us with his presence," she would say and he couldn't wait to smirk back at her and make her swoon with an equally witty quip.

His hand now no longer shook as he moved to pull the zipper of the tent down and stepped outside. There was no Clary waiting for him with a tantalizing smirk or a teasing Isabelle seated next to her. What lay before him was a slowly unraveling nightmare. Clary was nowhere to be seen and just feet away from their campfire lay Isabelle, unconscious and sporting a bloody head wound. Cold ran through him, but he didn't hesitate. Had lame brains attacked without him hearing? Was Clary off somewhere fighting them without him? If zombies had attacked, why was Isabelle unconscious and in one piece instead of being feasted upon like the easy prey she was? Something was wrong. He felt it in his gut. With a nonstop barrage of questions running through his mind, he made to move toward Isabelle immediately when his feet stumbled into something hard protruding from the earth. Though he knew he shouldn't have, and Isabelle needed him, he looked down.

Just like that decisive morning that sent him after Clary, a stake was plunged into the ground. He recognized it immediately. It was the stake that he had spent so long on and had caused him so many cuts upon his palms. Clary's stake. But, he knew with dread that this was nothing like that morning because next to the stake was carved the initials: VM.

Valentine Morgenstern.

And just like that, Jace's world came crashing to a halt. His knees hit the ground and then his stomach was rolling and he was ridding himself of last night's dinner (and copious amount of alcohol) into the nearest bush. Valentine had found him. His worst fears had been realized. The man that had been chasing him down for six months had finally caught up to him, gaining the upper hand. But it wasn't Jace that he had wanted. It wasn't what Jace had stolen from him.

He remembered when he had grabbed Clary desperately on the roof following their encounter with Valentine. She had looked at him with fear and he had hated making her feel that way. If she had only known what he did, if she had only understood, then she would know why he reacted the way he did. If she had seen the way Valentine looked at her—with a look that he remembered because it had been scarred into his brain long before—she would have known. It was crucial that she told him what Valentine had said to her. Though Jace had a feeling he already knew, he had needed her to confirm his suspicions. Nonetheless, he remembered her answer like she was whispering it in his ear beside him.

 _"_ _He told me that he looked forward to seeing me again."_

And it was then that he knew that no matter how many lame brains Clary had released into the mall, Valentine had survived. That man never broke a promise and he would continue to hunt them.

Now Valentine had taken Clary. She was gone and it was his fault.

He gripped the stake, clenching and unclenching. His breathing was rapid, shaky, and on the verge of hyperventilation. Briefly, he glanced at Isabelle. She stirred gently, giving him the invitation he needed. He took off, not knowing where he was running to or where they were, just that he would find them. If Valentine could track him down, he could do the same. He would. With Clary trapped in Valentine's clutches, he knew exactly what would be done to her. He had seen it happen before. He could still remember the look in her eyes as she…

Jace ran faster. And he unleashed a string of curses. And then he ran even faster. Clary needed him. Jace needed her. He needed to kill Valentine.

Visions of green pallored skin, a twisted smirk, and eyes that filled with a thirst for blood flashed through his mind. Yes, Valentine couldn't be allowed to live. Not just for what he had done to Jace, but for what he was capable of doing to others. Jace had once thought that by leaving and stealing what he had, he could stop him; he could save people. Really, all he had done was run and selfishly hoped that what he had done had been enough. Back then, he hadn't been ready to kill his own family. Even despite what Valentine had caused, he remembered the uncle that visited him on Christmas dressed as Santa and snuck him into R-rated movies. He had thought that by being reduced to a killer, he would only be allowing a cycle of inhumanity to continue. But no, now he was ready. Now he could kill.

Leaves crunched underneath his wake. It would be winter soon. That would be a new challenge that would await them. By then Clary would be safe and Valentine would be dead. He would make sure of it.

He began to run faster. How had he allowed this to happen? Why hadn't he woken up when they had taken her? He had been right there. _Right there_. They had both been drunk, he reminded himself painfully. Not drunk enough to not remember or consent, but drunk enough to assure that they slept like corpses used to sleep and awoke with a nasty hangover. It had been perfect timing on Valentine's part. So perfect, in fact, that he knew it hadn't been by accident. How long ago had they found them? How long had they been watching them, waiting? How much had they seen? His stomach churned at the thought of them having witnessed his private moment with Clary. Had they laughed, knowing their joy would come to a crashing halt come morning?

Faster, his mind screamed, fighting his body. Never before had there been more reason to run. New images flashed through his mind. He saw her. Her smile, her laugh, her scowl. The way she moved in a fight, the way she moved underneath (and on top of) him. Her snarl, her scream, her moan. Her. God, he had to see her. He needed her. He—

A weight crashed on top of him and he fell sprawling upon the earth, a sharp pain flashing through his arm. He ignored it, instead focusing on his attacker. The lame brain was a blur of teeth, blood, and the bedraggled remains of blond. Jace nearly let out a groan. He didn't have time for this. Clary didn't have the time to be wasted upon some dumb lame brain. And this lame brain was surely the lamest of them all to attempt to attack him while he was itching to kill.

Out of habit, he held the groaner away with one hand, being sure to keep a steady control upon its movements. This allowed room for his other hand to grasp for a weapon. The only weapon that Valentine and his gang hadn't stolen. Clary's stake felt more powerful than any gun in his grip.

In one swift movement, he flipped the lame brain onto its back and struck downwards. Dead. Now he could move onto better things and—

Jace froze. He had seen this lame brain before. It had been the only one he had let live at the mall. He could practically hear Clary's cries. _"Please Jace. Don't, please. It's just one zombie. We can just go!"_ He hadn't known who he was at that point, though he had suspected given the desperation in her face. It had been the first time he had ever seen her tough composure break. And now he knew why.

Clary's brother Jonathan lay dead at his feet. He had killed him. And, despite all that had happened, he couldn't help but worry she would hate him. He hadn't known, but he had broken his promise nonetheless. This was, of course, far down the road. He still had to save her first. But he dreaded telling her.

His arm moved to run through his air when a flash of red caused him to pause. Slowly, cautiously, he brought his arm closer. Blood, that's what he had seen. But where—

Everything stopped. The world disappeared and for a moment, he forgot about Valentine and Clary and Jonathan. His knees gave out from underneath him, but he never looked away from the crescent mark that scarred his skin. He had been bitten.

This complicated everything.

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 **I'm just going to leave this here and let you guys unpack everything that just happened in this chapter. And I'm going to request that you unpack what you're feeling in a review and let me know what you think and what direction you may want this story to go. It will be very helpful to me as I try to end this in a way that will be both satisfying and realistic to the story. Oh, and plus, the more you review, the sooner the update will be. And we may just get to see some familiar faces next chapter.** **..**

 **-Anika**


	16. The Infernal Fates

**So after the cliffhangerlast chapter, it was pretty much the worst timing ever for me to then have you guys had to go through an extra long wait. But I will just remind everyone that not all hope is lost yet. There are still quite a number of chapters left in this story, so anything can still happen.**

* * *

There was only one rule in the apocalypse that unified survivors. You could kill, you could steal and you could pillage, but the one thing you must never do is get bit. That's a crime you can't come back from. If someone wants you to suffer, they'll force you to wait it out. The process is agonizing, he had heard. Jace had witnessed the horror in Max and countless others. It was always with a morbid curiosity that one would lie awake at night and wonder: what if? What if I hadn't been fast enough? What if I had stopped to save them? What if they had gotten just one inch closer? What if I wasn't strong enough? What if what if _what if_ Wh _a_ T i _F_? One always wondered how long they would last. The longer you live, the more afraid you are. It never gets easier, only harder.

Jace remembered a night, not long after he had first set out on his own, when all he did was wonder and ask what ifs. There was no one else there who would protect him if it came down to it. No one who had his back. And, he wondered what it would feel like? Would there be a certain calm that came with knowing your time was over and you could now depart without shame? Would the pain be too great to bear? Would the transition be slow enough that you become so blended with the demon taking over that you lose track of where you end and where the monster begins?

Maybe there had been a time when Jace thought he could accept his fate. But now, he slumped to the earth sobbing. His chest shook, his nose ran, and throughout it all, his arm throbbed. A reminder of what had happened. His screams tore through the woods, loud and guttural. And as he quaked, his fists came down upon the swelling body of the zombie that had sealed his fate.

 _I can't die, I can't become one of them_ , he cried out, as if his pleas would ring out and a god he didn't believe in would take pity upon him. _I have to see Clary again. Just once, before I—_

He threw up for the second time that morning.

Not now. Why now? Why? Clary needed him. He had something he needed to do. He couldn't become one of them. Not when she was out there in the hands of his worst enemy. What would happen if he were to die before he got a chance to at least say goodbye?

Jace released a shaky breath and slowly looked up. Then, he froze. In his mourning, he hadn't noticed a young couple had arrived at the scene. The two regarded him warily, partially concealed behind a grove of trees and being sure to keep a safe distance between them and him. He couldn't blame them for that. They were just doing what any survivor who had lasted this long had been taught: trust nothing and know anything is capable of being the thing that kills you. The two were close enough that Jace could catch the way their eyes flickered from his tearstained face to his bleeding arm and the zombie that lay discarded at his side. Their question was then obvious.

"Are you bitten?" It was the man who had spoken. How often had Jace asked that question himself? Now, it was his turn to slowly nod. The man looked at him with pity, though Jace noted how his body had shifted—whether intentionally or not—protectively in front of the woman with him. As Jace took the two in, he could understand why. By the subtle swelling of her stomach, he figured she was at least a few months pregnant.

"Do you want us to shoot you before _it_ happens?" It was a gesture of common decency within the realm of the apocalypse to offer to end one's misery before they had a chance to become a monster. So many could survive the horrors of the apocalypse but would falter when it came to killing themselves after being bitten. It was the closest they had to table manners, though as humans were becoming fewer and farther between unless within a group, it wasn't as common as it once was. At least if anyone had to stumble upon him at his lowest moment, they were honorable.

At one point, Jace would have welcomed the man's offer gratefully. The worst thing that could happen to him would be to become one of them. But then, the next worse thing had happened and changed everything.

Jace shook his head. "No. I—my girlfriend was kidnapped. I have to save her first."

He felt the pity in their eyes mixed in with an uneasiness at the idea of leaving him alive where he could turn and kill more. Jace's eyes grew wet again at the thought of his body being used as a vessel to kill—not just kill, but _eat_ —people like him. As if mirroring his thoughts, the woman's eyes shifted down to the lame brain he had killed and had killed him in return. She stiffened instantly.

"Oh my god," the woman gasped, her hands moving to cover her mouth. "William, it's…"

The man—William—turned toward her without pause, deep blue eyes fixed upon her in concern. Jace's throat felt tight at the gesture of love, reminded once more of the emptiness that ballooned in his chest at Clary's absence.

"Tess, what's wrong? Is it…" his gaze dropped pointedly to the woman's stomach. She shook her head with a squeak, though she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were fixed upon the dead lame brain lying at his side.

"That's Jonathan. I…" she paused, looking to William as if gauging his reaction. "Well, we…I was with him _before_. I had always hoped he had survived."

Silent tears dribbled down her pale skin. William's eyes widened in recognition and he awkwardly moved closer to comfort her. She shrugged him off stubbornly, continuing, "for a while, I held on to hope that I would run into him and his little sister, though I never imagined it would be like this."

Jace straightened, quickly moving to his feet. Both of their gazes snapped back to him as if remembering he was still there. Jace noticed William's hand twitch closer to the gun at his side as if preparing for Jace to suddenly attack. He slowly raised his hands upwards in a sign of peace, though his gaze was on the woman. Tess, the man had called her. Like Tessa, who Clary had told him had been Jonathan's girlfriend before. Which would explain why she looked at the corpse of Jonathan the way she did. And it would mean…

"You know Clary," his voice came out rough and cracked, as though he hadn't had water in days. Tessa looked taken aback, and now her bluish grey eyes were firmly fixed upon him. Slowly, she nodded.

"Is she…" her gaze went back to look at Jonathan. _Like him_ , he filled in. _One of them._

"No, she's alive." God, he hoped she was. "But…"

Tessa's demander sobered instantly. He could tell she now understood, though beside her William looked irritably between the two.

"But what?" He grumbled, as if they were withholding a secret from him. Tessa rolled her eyes irritably.

"Leave it to you William to make this about you simply because you're too slow to understand the obvious." The dark haired man spluttered, but Tessa ignored him cooly. "His girlfriend who was kidnapped is Clary."

The words physically burned him. Was Clary technically his girlfriend? They hadn't had time to talk about what they were. But he knew it sounded so right. And hearing another repeat the reality he faced made it feel all the more inexplicably painful. He tried not to show just how much her words had affected him, but by the way William's face dropped and Tessa's lips pursed together like a worried mother hen, he had never had a chance.

At their expressions, a fresh wave of anxiety flooded over him. He was wasting time. How much farther away had Clary become while he stood there, chatting it up with strangers? Time had never been more important, as the itching red bite staring at Jace reminded him painfully.

"What if we cut off your arm?" Tessa suggested, looking at Jace. Will scoffed, cutting off any answer Jace might have had. "Tess, you know that doesn't work. Even if you've got a surgeon hacking you up, you're more likely to bleed to death or go into shock from the pain."

If Clary wasn't on the line, he would have been willing to take the risk. Anything to stop becoming one of them. He slowly shook his head.

"No, I—I'm the only one that knows where they are taking her." He remembered that camp every night. It would forever be burned into his retinas. At least, if forever meant the days he had left. That's where they would be taking her. He knew it. And he would get her back and burn that place to the ground like he should have done in the beginning.

Tessa looked at him with compassion and sorrow."Well, we want to help—"

"We do?" The pregnant woman elbowed Will in the gut with a roll of her eyes and a huff.

"We do!" William nodded enthusiastically now, a slight grimace barely visible on his handsome face. If they were in a better time, Jace thought he would have gotten along quite well with William. Tessa continued, looking back to Jace appealingly, "If there's anything we can do to help, say the word. Clary was like a little sister to me and…"

She paused, her throat tightening and her eyes watering as she looked down at the zombie. "I know if Jonathan were alive he would be doing all he could to protect her. She was always so fragile. I can't imagine how afraid she is."

Jace thought of Clary snarling and grinning while taking on a herd of lame brains; how she threw herself into a fight and saved his life more than once. And then, when his heart had felt like it was crashing out of his ribs as he witnessed her fight against Valentine and unleash the herd upon his men. Jace had been terrified and furious, but god he knew he was completely at her mercy then. It was hard to imagine the strong, reckless girl he knew as the Clary that Tessa remembered. Would his father even recognize the person he had become?

"The apocalypse changes all of us," Jace responded. "If anyone should be afraid, it's Valentine."

Jace remembered the girl in the net, all fury and curses. He could only imagine the rage she would inflict upon Valentine and whatever was left of his men.

Tessa's brow furrowed slightly, left wondering at the implication of his words. He didn't bother to clarify. Would she even want to lose the image of innocence she had held onto in her memories of before? Perhaps it was for the best that those they loved hadn't lived long enough to see what they had been forced to become. Although, he thought, maybe those they loved would've kept them grounded. Isabelle and Max had—

His mind short-circuited as he remembered Isabelle.

"Actually." Jace knew what he had to do now. "If you want to help, I know a way you could."

* * *

He was there when Isabelle began to stir. Blearily, her eyes cracked open. She hissed instantly, a hand clutching her wounded head at the brightness of the light. Jace shushed her, telling her it was alright and to take it easy. Taking care not to hurt her, he dabbed her forehead with a tattered shirt that he had wet from the nearby lake. She relaxed, visibly soothed by the cool rag against her throbbing skull.

It was a few moments of silence before she shot up once more, eyes flashing wide. A spewing of curses flew from her mouth at warp speed and, as she clutched her head, she looked at Jace with horror.

"Jace," she whispered, her voice strained and quiet with emotion.

"I know."

"They took her. I—I couldn't stop them. I tried, but we were outnumbered and—"

"I know."

She shook her head, willing for him to listen. Because he couldn't know, he couldn't understand, her eyes screamed, if he was only staring at her forlornly. Employing what she knew would wake up the man in front of her, she spoke sternly, "It was Valentine. He and a few of his men survived and _they kidnapped Clary_."

It just about broke her when he replied the same "I know".

"If _you know_ ," she growled, "why are you just sitting there instead of doing something! We should be hunting them down right now! Jace, what are you—"

Her words died in her throat as she watched Jace roll back his shirt sleeve and expose the same bite she recognized on her brother. She made a noise in the back of her throat—a cross between a sob and a choke. Slowly, her eyes lifted to meet his own. There were tears in her eyes, he recognized. It made his heart clench in both affection and sadness.

It was silent for a long time before Isabelle finally spoke. The words felt like being bitten all over again.

 _"_ _Not you too."_

"I'm sorry." Jace had always made fun of people who apologized for things they had no responsibility for. _It's a way of showing empathy and compassion_ , Kaelie had once rolled her eyes at him with a frustrated huff. He had never seen the point. But now, there was so much he had to apologize for, though he hadn't intended to die.

 _I'm sorry I wasn't quick enough._

 _I'm sorry for leaving you alone, so soon after Max._

 _I'm sorry I couldn't stay to help you find your brother._

 _I'm sorry I failed._

Suddenly Izzy launched herself at him. He rocked backwards from her added weight, but welcomed her arms gripping him in a tight hug. Just like after his father died, Jace hadn't realized just how much he had needed a hug until she was there. She was weeping openly upon his shirt, croaking out barely audible sentiments inbetween her tears: _I'll miss you. You can't go. We need you, Clary needs you._

That just about goddamn broke him. He held on, at least for the moment. He couldn't cry yet, not now. That wasn't how he wanted Isabelle to remember him. He would wait until he was alone and the sky was dark and he was cold, remembering a time when he had been warm.

He swallowed roughly, nodded a bit too forcefully, and separated himself from her. She resisted, but consented as she heard a snapping twig. It was now that she noticed two figures standing behind Jace. She immediately tensed, her eyes growing hard. Despite her injuries, she began to reach for a weapon. Jace stopped her, blocking her reaching arm. Her gaze snapped to him in betrayal.

"Jace—"

"It's okay, they aren't with Valentine. This is Will and Tessa. We can trust them."

By the continued coldness of her gaze, he knew she didn't seem so sure. Her lips were tight as she murmured, "why are they here?"

It amazed and terrified him how much she reminded him of how Clary was when they first met. Ever since the death of Max. Clary had been getting better, but would either of the two be able to recover after what was to come? It hurt him to know that he wouldn't be there to protect them. He would become yet another scar that would always remain in the past.

"I have to save Clary before…it happens. And, I can't be focused on you trying to keep you safe while you're hurt and…from me. I don't know how long I have, I can't put you in that risk. So, while I go find Clary, Tessa and Will are going to look out for you and help you keep searching for your brother."

Jace had expected Isabelle to put up a fight. This came as no surprise to him. What he hadn't foreseen was the immediate slap that knocked his head to the side in a sudden flash of heat. He cursed, but Isabelle's ragings drowned out his complaints.

"You complete, absolute dumbass! If you think you're going to pull some noble, self loathing superhero bullshit to keep me "safe" then you are sorely mistaken. Clary is my friend too, and in case you forgot, she saved me. I can't just sit around while she's in danger. Go ahead and try to keep me from helping her and you won't have to worry about the bite killing you. I'll do it myself."

Will let out a low whistle, snickering under his breath despite Tessa's valiant but futile attempts to hush him. Jace's lips pursed tightly while Isabelle stubbornly glared, daring him with her expression to even attempt keeping her from the action.

"What about Alec?" It felt like a low blow to Jace, but he had to try it anyways. Her glare faltered for just a moment before an icy mask returned once more and she cooly responded, "Now that we know Valentine is alive, he's my best lead to finding my brother. It's likely Alec is still with him."

She wagged her eyebrows at him and smirked. "Is that all you've got?"

"I could turn at any moment," he argued. "You're safer—"

"I killed my own brother. I can kill you too if I have to." Though her voice broke, she didn't relent. And it was then that Jace knew he had lost. He had never had a chance to begin with.

"Alright, you can come." Jace would never admit it, but he was grateful. He had thought she wouldn't want to be around him, knowing he was practically already gone. She didn't deserve to have to watch another killed by the apocalypse, but Jace was selfish. He didn't want to be alone when he turned. He wasn't sure he was strong enough.

Isabelle nodded, though she didn't smile. Nothing about that day warranted a smile. Jace turned back to Will and Tessa, who stood awkwardly watching the scene.

"Thank you for offering to help," he said. "But she isn't going to budge. She's stubborn like that."

Tessa's forehead creased as she frowned deeply.

"But—"

"Tess, no." William's voice flashed dangerously.

"But she's my friend, Will. I have to—"

"I know. But—" William's eyes flickered down to Tessa's swollen stomach. It was no wonder William seemed so on edge, Jace thought. Pregnancy was much more deadly than it used to be. Even if the baby lived, most of the mothers didn't. In the community, he knew many women who fell pregnant and died soon after. He suddenly felt a sort of kinship with Tessa. He was bitten and she was pregnant. They were both alive and breathing, waiting to die.

She swallowed, following William's line of sight to her stomach. Her hand moved to rest upon the curve of her belly in a subconscious act. She turned to Jace, her eyes sad and weary.

"We're going to name him Jem," she whispered. Her voice then began to shake. "I'm sorry that this has happened to you."

"I'm sorry this has happened to all of us," Jace replied. "You don't have to come with us. Just make sure that you live and you raise Jem as more than just a survivor."

Her hands went to the back of her neck, working to unclasp a gold chain and holding out a necklace with shaking hands.

"Take this," she said, pushing the necklace into his hands. As he looked at it more closely, he could see a golden angel made of clockwork. "It's carried me this far. Now it will carry you."

Jace shook his head. "I can't—"

"If I can't be there, then I'll feel better knowing that at least I can give you a guardian angel to watch over you. And, when you find Clary, give it to her. She'll know what it means."

He had spent so long on his own in the aftermath of his departure from Valentine. Always running, always hiding. Though he had tried to hope for humanity, it was difficult to remain optimistic when encompassed by a world of darkness. But meeting Tessa and William made him feel as if there was hope for humanity.

He only wished he could live to see it.

And, later that night after Jace had thanked Tessa and William and they had departed ways, Jace would stay up and look at the stars alone, remembering how just one night beforehand he had felt the warmth of Clary at his side. And he would wonder about all that he had once imagined he would no longer see. He had wanted to graduate with his friends and wave to his father at commencement. He had imagined him finally being proud of what he had accomplished. The thought of marriage and a family had never appealed to him. And then, there had been a time when he had been with Kaelie that for a brief flicker, the idea didn't seem so bad.

He hadn't been with Clary long enough. Inside he screamed for justice, because he knew he had been robbed. Because he had imagined himself with her. And seeing Tessa had made him wonder whether that could have ever been in the cards for him and Clary. Maybe one day, way down the line there could have been a cure, a new world. An _after_. And there, they could have made it.

There would have been so many nights they would have spent together; so many simple, quiet moments that would have made him forget to be afraid. She would have continued to challenge him and he would have done the same. They could have grown together. His mind would continue to concoct thousands of possible scenarios the two could have would have should have shared, but now all he could hope was that he would see her again before he died.

That night, as his skin began to itch and he felt a fire blazing beneath his skin, Jace knew his time was running out. The effects of the bite were starting to kick in.

And Jace began to sob once more.

* * *

 **In all honesty, this chapter was difficult for me because Isabelle was originally not supposed to stay with Jace in my original planning. But as I got here, I knew it wouldn't make sense to the character for her to leave Jace behind and she still has to meet with Alec. So a lot more editing was involved here and later in the story to figure out where that leads and what purpose William and Tessa would now have. But I definitely think it's for the better. Next chapter we get to see what's going on with Clary and you'll see her point of view on her night with Jace so you'll definitely want to stay tuned.**

 **Finals are over so you guys don't have to wait forever, but you still have to review!**

 **-Anika**


	17. Allies and Enemies

**Finally home and off school for the summer so luckily there will be no more interruptions to posting. Now we go back to Clary.**

* * *

Clary awoke instantly knowing something was wrong. The ground was cold and hard beneath her and though she had become accustomed to waking up in a new place each night, the woods had never smelled so…musty. _Five more minutes_ , she told herself with a groan, instinctively rolling on her side into the awaiting warm body Jace would provide next to her. An empty pocket of air enveloped her, feeling just like losing Mr. Pointy did.

Clary's eyes burst wide and she jolted into a sitting position. High arched stone walls surrounded her in varying shades of medieval greys and browns. The room was bare, save for herself. No Jace, no Isabelle. No towering woodland skyscrapers or soil to brush off her butt and then slap Jace for watching. She was all alone, with no idea where she was, and no memory of how she got there.

The last she remembered, she was waking up in the tent. Jace was still asleep, and she had stared for longer than she was proud of at the way his long eyelashes fanned upon his cheeks. Her finger twitched, itching to paint for the first time in months. She wanted to remember this. The sun had just begun to filter in through the tent in a gleaming morning golden hour. After some more staring, she had carefully detached herself from his arm that gripped around her frame protectively. She had smiled softly at the gesture. After so long spent surviving and fighting on her own, she knew she didn't need to be protected. But it touched her all the same that someone wanted to try. Someone cared enough to put her first for once.

A smile remained a permanent fixture upon her face as she quickly tossed some clothes upon her frame. There had to be something to draw within the supplies they had raided from the mall, she figured. Her hand grazed against the zipper before sudden horror washed over her at what lay outside. What if Izzy was there, waiting for them? Jace and Clary hadn't exactly been…discreet…the night before. Hell, it had been a while. Clary wasn't above admitting that they were loud. It would've been a wonder if Izzy had slept at all. And Clary knew she would be getting back at them with a ready arsenal of snide jokes and innuendos she had been preparing since they had met.

But Clary wasn't afraid. She knew that together her and Jace would bear the mocking and the blushing, but they wouldn't hide. She had done too much of it. And so she climbed out of the tent, looking forward to being there when he woke up, hovering over him with a pencil and paper.

It was with a smile on her face that she felt something hard hit her, followed by a scream. Then there was only darkness.

There was an indescribable feeling that came with not knowing where you are or who you were with. Though now she could see, and feel, and hear, it was as if she had never left the darkness. Once more, the survivor had become the girl in the net, dangling helplessly above a certain doom. At least then she could go down fighting. Anything was better than waiting at the mercy of a nameless, faceless foe.

She stood, though her head pounded and her limbs shook. It felt as if there was a lining of crust on the inside of her mouth—how long had she been without food or water?—but still, her fists clenched and she screamed to whatever enemy could hear her a stream of curses and threats. For what must have been at least ten minutes, she carried on, ranging from descriptions of the eventual decapitation she would inflict upon her captor to other more creative threats taken from various horror movies she had seen with Simon. Her fists beat into the walls until they came away bloody and raw. She held herself back from continuing on with her feet, as she knew if she came face to face with her enemy, she would need to be able to fight. Though, her mind filled in, there was always her teeth.

A slight scuffle came from outside the heavy iron door that marked the only way out of the room. Clary immediately stood at attention and turned. The noise sounded again, louder this time. What would be on the other side, she wondered? Did she really want to know? And, did she already have a feeling that she knew all along? No matter, Clary silently toed her way to flatten herself against the wall. If the door opened, she would take her captor by surprise.

There was nobody to save her but herself. Clary knew that. Maybe Jace and Isabelle were out there looking for her. But she couldn't count on that. She had to rely on what she'd always had: herself.

A jingle of keys sounded, though it sounded as if it were being muffled. Probably intentionally, hoping to keep her in the dark. She pressed herself further into the wall, practically bouncing on her bare heels. They had taken her shoes and stripped her of any weapons, but she still had herself. That was enough. She would always be enough. There was a click of a lock and a slight creak. The door moved hesitantly, opening barely an inch. The familiar barrel of a gun nudged its way through the crack in the door, inches away from her face. She sucked in a breath but didn't dare reveal herself. Her hand itched upwards, slowly. A plot began forming in her head.

"Don't try anything funny, now," the voice was masculine but familiar. Clary felt her breath hitch but didn't stir. Her mind was suddenly very loud. The man now felt more confident to ease himself further in the room, holding his gun firmly outstretched. Clary narrowed her gaze and set her shoulders back. Her mind grew silent.

It happened all at once. She grabbed his wrists, twisting the gun out of his grip before he got close enough to see her face. He let out a yelp but was silenced by her pointing the gun at him. Her finger danced along the trigger. The cool metal sang to her, urging her further. She stared at the boy on the other end of the barrel, who had fallen to the floor in fear.

"Where am I, Alec?"

He continued to back away. His mouth widened and his lips pulled downwards. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, she noted. He was scared. Clary tightened her grip on the trigger.

"I let you go before, but I won't make the same mistake if I have to," she smirked at him, but on the inside, a deep cold numbness was spreading throughout her body. The reappearance of Alec brought her worst fears to life. The reality of what was waiting on the other side of her cell was worse than not knowing. "We were looking for you, you know? For weeks. Isabelle had hope for you, and after all this time you're still stabbing her loyalty in the back. How do you live with yourself?"

The boy's gaze suddenly hardened. He glared up at her defiantly.

"I told you before I didn't have a choice," he grunted. "That's why I'm here. I need your help to free Magnus so that we can all escape and I can be with Izzy and Max again."

Clary pursed her lips, reminding herself that he was just trying to get in her head. It could be a trap, just like the last time. Humans liked to play all kinds of nasty tricks in a fight. At least zombies never tried to talk to her. But still, her heart felt as if it had been ripped raw and bloody at the mention of Max. She looked at him pityingly, worrying her lip.

She was screaming on the inside to just knock him out and run, but then she saw his vulnerable blue eyes begging her.

"Alec," her voice broke. "There's something you should know."

He said nothing, but his shoulders fell. They had both lived long enough in the apocalypse to know when someone was about to give you life destroying news. There was something about the gesture that made her heart clench. _You have to trust him_ , it whispered. _Even if it's a trap, all you'll end up in is in a different trap than before._

In the silence, Alec swallowed. It seemed to take all of his courage to ask, "something happened, didn't it?"

If she was going to trust him, if they were going to get out of there, knowing would do Alec no favors. They needed to be focused. And, more importantly, she needed a bargaining chip. She forced her expression to go blank, giving nothing away. It was time for her to be in control of her life again.

"It isn't important right now," she said, though she felt like she was dishonoring the boy she had grown to care for. "What we need to focus on right now is getting out of here."

"Clary, if my family is in danger—"

"Consider it an incentive to keep good on your promise," she fired back. "Get me out of here alive and you get your information."

His mouth was pursed into a thin line. He gazed at her coldly before nodding. She extended a hand out to him to help him off the floor, which he took. His eyes flickered to the gun in her hand.

"I can take my gun back now." She ignored him, instead moving with wide strides to the door.

She hesitated just as she was about to exit the doorway. Biting her lip, she retracted her outstretched palm and turned back to Alec.

"What's your plan for getting out of here and not getting caught?"

Alec smirked.

* * *

Clary's wrists might have been bound behind her back, but she swore if Alec pushed her one more time she was going to punch him in the face. After he had designated himself as her escort to not draw suspicion, she had gotten an immediate bad feeling in her gut. It hadn't helped that it seemed like every person they passed felt the need to stop them just so they could jeer and spit in her face.

"You would think with all of the resources you guys apparently have stolen, your hygiene would be better," she grumbled under her breath. She could practically feel Alec roll his eyes behind her.

"It's just a little further Clary," he breathed back before whispering a quick apology and shoving her into the wall. A couple that had just begun to walk by laughed greedily, congratulating Alec for his good job of police brutality, before moving on. Clary muttered a string of curses under her breath. At them, at Alec, at herself for getting into this mess, at Valentine, everyone.

She didn't bother asking whether he had needed to shove her so hard. He had. Throughout the stone sanctuary that Alec had called _The Institute_ , they had passed nearly a dozen people. All of them knew exactly who she was and what she had done to their group. Singlehandedly, she had killed twenty-eight men and four women from Valentine's people. Alec was one of the few who had survived. But nearly a quarter of the sanctuary's population had been wiped out by her. They wanted blood, Alec had told her.

"But what is he planning with me," she murmured under her breath just loud enough for Alec to hear. There was a long pause before he replied, "I can't be sure."

She found herself reminded of Jace's reaction to Valentine's words and somehow, she knew deep down that it was better to hope he wanted her killed quickly.

"Get in the doorway you…bitch." Alec gave her a shove towards the door at the end of the hallway. She kept from rolling her eyes at his awkward display of aggression.

"I'm absolutely quaking with fear," she deadpanned once in the large room, facing Alec.

"As you should be."

Clary froze. Behind her, Alec remained unphased by the addition of the new voice that Clary would have recognized anywhere. After all, he had known exactly who was waiting in the room. "After what you did to my people, I would expect nothing less."

Half moon crescents scalded Clary's palms as she clenched her fists tightly enough to draw blood. "I'm not afraid of you."

Her back still faced the man who had brought her to him against her will, but she could hear the satisfaction in his reply. "I know, if you were you wouldn't have been any use to me. But luckily for you, you are."

"Funnily enough, I wouldn't expect to see this scenario on a box of Lucky Charms."

Alec stood beside her, stonefaced and uncaring, like a perfect soldier. The one who was tasked to bring her to Valentine, no matter what may happen to her here. Slowly, she turned.

Valentine stood with his hands clasped behind his back and his feet spread apart. The stance of a soldier. A living weapon that thrived in everlasting war. He looked much the same as before, only this time there was a gauze bandage over what was once his left ear. Clary smirked openly at her handiwork. He noticed.

"No, I hadn't imagined you would feel remorse at what you caused during our last meeting."

"Not true. I'm absolutely _rolling_ in remorse over you not being a pile zombie kibble."

Something flashed in his eyes that she remembered seeing before, back in the mall. It unsettled her now just as much as it did then. Valentine turned his gaze to Alec appraisingly.

"I know that her being here must be very confusing for you, especially given her relationship with your…siblings," Valentine emphasized the word _siblings_ , toying with it as if it were all a fun setup to an even greater punchline. He knew, Clary realized. How long had he been watching them? "I remember how conflicted you were at the mall. If your actions hadn't ultimately proved fruitful, my punishment would have been far more severe. Yet, I still have to question whether or not I can trust you."

It was a test. Valentine was toying with him, poking with an iron rod at his emotions. The boy remained a blank slate, though Clary thought she had seen the slightest quirk in his jaw.

Alec remained straight-faced and dutifully responded, "I'll make sure Clary doesn't get in much trouble on the way there and we'll be ba—"

"That won't be necessary. I'd like an opportunity to welcome Clarissa alone. She will stay here, with me."

Alec blinked while Clary felt the beginning of cold sweat. After a pause, Alec finally nodded and made to exit. Once his back was turned, Clary could see the true panic on his face as he looked at her with imploring eyes. That hadn't been the plan. When they had entered the room, Clary knew Valentine would be there and Alec would pretend to betray her in order to gain Valentine's trust and get the keycard which would give them access to Magnus and safety. It had all been planned, but her staying with Valentine ruined everything.

"I'll be there," he had assured her when he first proposed bringing her right into the enemy's hands. "You'll be safe from him doing anything to you when I'm there."

"But what will he do," she had pressed. He had pursed his lips in return before shaking his head.

"Like I said Clary, I'll stay by your side. As long as we get you out of here before nightfall, you'll be fine and the three of us can get back to Jace and my siblings."

Yet, despite the kink in their plan, she looked stonily away from Alec's panicked expression and met Valentine's gaze in a challenge. _Go_ , the action told him. _I can handle him._ She just had to hope that Alec would come back for her, even after he had Magnus.

The door clicked shut behind him. Clary felt an unmistakeable coldness wash over her at the triumphant gleam in Valentine's gaze.

"I assume he doesn't know about his brother?"

Electricity sparked throughout Clary's body at the mention of Max. She gaped at him with wide eyes.

"How long have you been watching us?"

He smiled like a chess player watching all the pieces fall together perfectly for a triumphant win.

"Long enough. I didn't see it happen, but once I noticed his absence within your group it was easy enough to put the pieces together." His gaze softened then as he looked at Clary imploringly. "I know how you think of me, but I hope you know I don't enjoy his death. Like you, I have had to watch too many around me die."

He drew closer to her, never breaking eye contact. "It's unfortunate, but Max was only the beginning. Everyone around you will die eventually, but you will remain because you are stronger than them. That's why I brought you here. You're a survivor."

His words felt like a slap. A few weeks ago, would she have been taken in by his speech that catered to the survivor in her but forgot the girl? Her fists clenched tightly.

 _Ignore him, Clary,_ she told herself. _He wants to get inside your head. He wants to hurt you. If you're a survivor, you can survive him._

"Are you trying to sell me a car because this whole snake charmer spiel of yours is rather pointless." She morphed her expression into one of boredom, hoping if she annoyed him enough that she could put off whatever plan Valentine had. He was unphased by her remark, instead beaming as if she had just proved his point.

"Do you know how the apocalypse began? What started it all?"

Clary paused. Despite all the time she had had to consider the question, an answer had never occurred to her and everyone seemed to have different answers.

"The government did it," a group of survivors wearing camouflage trucker hats had told her. "First they put fluoride in the water to turn the turtles mutant, then they turned us dead."

"It was a virus, like the plague," said one woman who looked as if she had spent her entire life in a yoga. "Scientists were building chemical weapons for the next war and it backfired on us."

"God sent this curse upon us as punishment for the immorality of gays getting married," one had said. That one had been her favorite. Not because she believed them, but because it had been extra funny to watch them be eaten alive the next day by two male zombies stripped to their underwear.

In all of the scenarios she had been given, they all seemed like bullshit.

"No," she replied finally. The truth was that she didn't care. Knowing why wouldn't change anything. Those she loved would still be dead and she would still be held hostage in the dank walls of The Institue by a sociopath.

"I wouldn't suppose you would. Most people are content with finding a source to pin their outrage on, but the truth is that all of this," he gestured around him, "is because of us. There was only so long that our species could spend dumping waste into the oceans and the sky, melting the planet, before the Earth struck back. The chemicals we used to be fine polluting the planet with backfired and polluted us. And, as you know, there were some nasty side effects."

She clenched her jaw. He continued on.

"Humans have always been weak. Even when they knew what was happening, they weren't strong enough to do anything to stop it. Thus, only the strongest of us will survive this world to a point where we can rebuild our population. I brought you here because I want to create a human civilization of survivors that can outlast the apocalypse."

"There's no way of knowing who will survive," she bit back. "People like Max and Simon and Jonathan didn't die because they were weak. They…it was just bad luck. It could happen to any of us."

He looked at her like one would look at a five-year-old who had just said something cute, but utterly nonsensical. And, just like when she was a five-year-old, the look made her bristle.

"It's a nice thought, but it's wrong." Clary began to wonder if it was possible for Valentine to speak without being obnoxiously patronizing. "There's a reason the children and elderly were the first to go. The sick, the disabled, the slow, the stupid, all of them lack what it takes. We are in a time where survival of the fittest is a reality and those who will last are those who can evolve. And to evolve, we must destroy the parts of ourselves that make us weak."

Clary took a step back, her heart beating faster. His words brought her back to what Jace had revealed around the fire, while they were waiting for Max to die.

"What you're doing is sick," she spat, clenching her fists. "Mixing humans with those…things. Turning people into monsters…you may be alive but you're no better than the zombies."

Within two strides he had crossed the floor and she was slammed against the wall, his hand around her throat. It twitched, keeping a grip that was just tight enough to show her the power he held to kill her without quite cutting off her airways. She glared up at him, refusing to back down. Just as she always would.

"I'm saving the human race," he growled, applying a bit more pressure to her throat. A small gasp escaped. It was becoming more difficult to breathe. Her eyes flickered down at the wrist choking her, only to widen in horror. It was now, up close that she could see the scars of multiple bite marks traveling up his arms. His eyes flashed with wicked satisfaction when he saw where she was looking. He released a bit of pressure off her throat. "You want to know how I know that only the strongest survive? Because it is only the strongest who can survive the mixture of blood. It doesn't matter if I am bitten. I will live. And, so will you."

Clary wanted to throw up. She wanted to be far away, huddled under sheets with Jace beside her where she knew nothing could harm her. She wanted to go back to when things were simple and she was just trying to stay alive and all she had to worry about were the zombies and herself. And, more than anything, she wanted to go home. What she would give to be able to walk through her front door, drop her school bag, and launch herself into the awaiting arms of her parents. They would hug her and kiss her and tell her that everything was going to be okay and they would always be there for her.

But they weren't.

If she were able to bring them back, would she? As much as she wanted those she had lost to be alive, would she wish survival on any of them if this was what it took? Would she wish survival upon herself?

"I don't want to survive if I have to lose what makes me a human to do it."

His gaze narrowed. Suddenly her throat was being crushed. Clary's eyes watered and she struggled for breath. Her feet kicked outwards and her nails clawed at the hand gripping her throat. He took in her reaction with a bemused interest.

"It's funny how our instinct for survival will turn us into desperate animals, only fighting to live. This is human nature, Clarissa, despite the romantics my nephew might have convinced you of." There was a cruel flash within his eyes as he further tightened his hold upon her throat. Black spots appeared in her vision. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. _Feed me, feed me_ , her lungs screamed at a piercing decibel. "You fight to live now, not as a human being, but as a survivor," his voice had softened to a hush, right by her ear. Her vision was fading. She was falling. She was losing to utter darkness. Down and down and—

"Maybe you just need to be tested to see the truth."

She was gone.

* * *

When she awoke in a crumpled heap on the floor of an empty room, she wanted to scream. Her throat was thick and heavy and on fire. A ginger touch told her that it was bruised, but luckily not crushed. She coughed, an action that felt painful and cruel. Like swallowing a pinecone. She tried to speak, but it came out as a wheeze. It would take time to heal before she could fully speak again, but her vocal cords didn't seem permanently damaged.

Hair prickled on the back of her neck. The room she was in was devoid, occupied only by her and a small knife resting beside her, but she sensed danger. Quickly, she snatched up the knife, hoping that the next time she saw Valentine she could tear his lungs open. What was Valentine planning? Where were Magnus and Alec? An unease had taken hold of her. Something was coming. She just knew it.

There was only one exit in the room: a set of double doors coated in chipping green paint. Slowly, she got to her feet and edged closer to the door. _It's not going to work_ , her ration told her. _Valentine wouldn't just give you a knife and an unlocked door out of the goodness of his own heart. He's already proven he doesn't have one._ She knew it was a longshot, but it was at least worth a try. She opened the door.

She barely had time to jump back from the zombie that had been on the other side. And the next one, and the next one, and—

Her breath caught in horror as a herd of zombies flooded into the room, all gunning towards the girl with only a knife. All thoughts of fight and survival abandoned her. She continued walking backward into the corner of the room, gripping her knife tightly, staring her own death in the face.

* * *

 **Like usual, Clary has a nack at getting herself into trouble. What did you guys think about Clary not telling Alec about Max's death? And what did you think about Valentine's reveal in what caused the apocalypse?**

 **I don't want to spoil too much about next chapter, but let's just say that there will be a reunion.**

 **Be sure to review and let me know what you think. We're getting closer to the finale now!**

 **-Anika**


	18. World Burn

**This chapter was a bitch to edit. It needed to be reworked so badly. And yes, I'm not gonna lie. This chapter title was inspired by the Mean Girls soundtrack. Don't judge me, it's fantastic. But here we go! We're getting closer to the end, guys. Can you feel it?**

* * *

Jace had traveled through the sewers more than anyone before him but never before had he felt so much as if he were surrounded by ghosts. Isabelle was at his side, not so subtly glancing at him when she thought he wasn't looking. Although she wasn't necessarily looking at him, but at how quickly the disease was spreading. In the hours that had passed since they had said left Will and Tessa, Jace had begun to feel the beginning of the bite's effect. Isabelle had said it would come in waves, so much that it would act as torture within itself. One minute Max would be throwing up, the next he was right back to his energetic ten year old self, giving the illusion that he had gotten better.

But he hadn't and neither would Jace.

So far, it hadn't been overt. Clamminess, headaches, dizziness. In some ways, he could pretend he just had a cold while traversing through the grimy tunnels. But then, he would feel a hand in his own and see Clary smirking up at him and remember how screwed he was. Hallucinations had begun, but he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy them. Not when they let him have the illusion that Clary was still beside him.

"Jace, I'm worried about you," Isabelle's voice was soft beside him.

"Really? And here I was thinking I was the picture of health," he responded dryly. "At least you won't have to worry for much longer."

She rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath that Jace couldn't hear, but he had no doubt it would have had her shoveling fistfuls of money into a swear jar.

"I heard you guys you know." Jace felt his skin prickle under Isabelle's meaningful stare. "I know that you two had finally begun to work things out. Even though I hated both of you and thought about going in there and ripping you apart myself for keeping me awake, I was happy for you. And then…this—"

She worried her lip before settling a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she continued. Jace hadn't seen Isabelle look so soft since before Max's death. "I'm sorry that this happened to you, to both of you, but you're going to need to start being more honest with me. You can talk to me, about both Clary and the bite."

He was about to respond before the sewer water near them began to ripple. Something was moving, splashing. The two looked to each other with pursed lips. Finally, Jace nodded and made a move for the weapons bag. He could now feel the vibrations in the concrete beneath him.

Within minutes, the two were locked in a battle with a band of lame brains. Though Jace's body ached and the burning had returned, he realized that he needed the fight. He wasted no time in cutting down one, and then another, and then stealing Isabelle's kill because he wanted that one too. This fight was different.

"Does it seem like there are more than usual?" Isabelle called out to him whilst in the midst of slicing a lame brain's head off with a sword she had taken a liking to.

This was true. While the numbers against them weren't that of a herd, they were many. At least ten, maybe fifteen. But that wasn't what made this fight different for Jace. He could care less about the number. His ears were ringing, screaming. Electricity thrummed within his veins.

He thrust outwards, piercing a nearby lame brain with his own blade. They couldn't use guns in the tunnel for the risk of the sound bringing greater numbers, but for once he was grateful. He needed to feel their deaths. Especially when they were groaning so loudly. Especially when he was beginning to understand them.

What used to be just a sound was now a specific call: _Hungry_ , one was moaning. _Thirsty_ , cried another. _Stop fighting_.

But that one didn't come from any of the zombies in front of him. It came from himself. And that terrified him. Luckily, Isabelle had been turned around dealing with her own battle, but it didn't change anything. His time was running out.

And so, he fought more determined than ever before. On the inside, he convinced himself it was for Clary. He was a valiant knight tearing down any obstacle between him and the princess trapped away in a tower (not that he would ever use that metaphor around her). But it was more than that. He fought and he killed with more force than ever before because he was afraid and angry and he wanted all those around him to suffer as if it would stop the inevitable. The more he proved he was against the zombies, the further he would be from becoming one.

If only it worked out that way.

The blade in his grip felt heavier and his footwork was clumsy. Blood pounded in his ears, soon joined by a heartbeat. It came from Isabelle's direction. He was suddenly thirsty for a hunger he had never known, but that he craved more than anything. And then, he was slipping. Everything was dark.

Jace wasn't sure where he was, but he remembered when he made the hardest decision of his life. For weeks he would wake up, make only half of the bed, go to his designated work post, and go through the motions until he could return to his quarters. There, he would sit in the chair next to the bed and stare at the spot she had once slept next to him. And each day, he would ask himself the same question: Do I do it?

It was only once he returned to his—but what was supposed to be their—quarters that he could allow his composure to slip. On the outside, he knew his uncle's underlings were watching him closely to see any sign of malevolence. After what happened, this was inevitable. What Jace didn't know is how involved his uncle was in the destruction of all he held dear. Was it possible that Valentine was oblivious to the actions of those that may be underneath him? Could his uncle—the only family he had left—truly be so far gone as to hurt his own family?

While they watched Jace, he watched them in turn. And then, once he returned to the sanctuary of his room, he would plot. Kaelie had disappeared. Others could pretend she had never existed, but he couldn't. Not when he was reminded of her absence each time he returned to see a bed she had yet to return to. But the question remained: could he do it? Even if Valentine could betray his nephew, was Jace capable of going against his uncle? The only reason he had survived the apocalypse thus far?

Weeks turned into months of Jace putting on a show. It was only when he could come back to his room and return to stare at the spot where she had once slept that he knew he was still himself. Jace wasn't the only one pretending. Valentine had taken to assigning Jace jobs where he could keep a personal eye on him. Every so often, Jace would catch the secret glances of his uncle and see a certain glint in his eye that chilled Jace to his core. It was cold, calculating. As if trying to determine what kind of threat Jace may have posed. And suddenly, he realized how naive he had been to hope that Valentine hadn't been the one behind Kaelie's disappearance all along. After he had convinced her in the weeks beforehand to work on a 'very important' project that Kaelie couldn't tell him about. And as the weeks had worn on where Kaelie continued growing more distant, Jace had tried to pull her away from his grasp. It seemed now that he had had reason to worry. He was just too late. So, Jace decided, this time he wouldn't be.

Despite the act he had been playing, he was still alive. And he was angry.

After three months, it was time. Jace stood outside Valentine's office, the picture of the dutiful son Valentine wanted him to be. But, Jace reminded himself, he wasn't Valentine's son. His father was a man who believed and hoped for a better world. That was the man he would always be the son of. In moments of doubt, he would remember his father and remind himself that it was his job to carry on a legacy his father would be proud of.

"Jace, I didn't expect to see you here." As he had practiced, Jace masked his emotions and turned to his uncle.

"I heard that you were going on a reconnaissance trip for a few days. What kind of nephew would I be if I didn't come to say goodbye?"

In reality, he had thought Valentine had already left and was struggling to contain the panic that had arisen inside. Valentine, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice Jace's internal anxiety. He smiled and it struck Jace how normal the man looked. It was as if nothing had changed between them, though he knew everything had.

"I'm proud of you Jace," he said and his eyes were kind, though his heart was not. Jace knew this. There was a side of his bed that hadn't been slept in for months that proved this. "You had me worried for a moment, but you've proven over the last few months that you deserve to be my right hand."

For a moment, Jace almost regretted what he was about to do. Until Valentine continued, setting every nerve in Jace's body on fire.

"Kaelie would be proud of you."

And it was then, as Valentine walked away, Jace knew there was no turning back.

He slipped inside Valentine's lab, bracing himself with fantastical images of the horror he may discover. Still, nothing could have prepared him for what lay on the other side of the door.

"Kaelie," he breathed, though he knew that whatever was before him was no longer the girl he had grown up with. Chained to the wall, at the sight of Jace she struggled against her restraints. But he didn't rush to her as he imagined he would. On the outside, Kaelie looked like a girl, albeit a girl who hadn't showered in three months. But when she grinned at him, blood stained her teeth and dribbled down her chin, down her shirt. Everywhere.

"What's the matter, Jace? Do you not think I'm pretty anymore?" There was no love or compassion in her voice. As if she were addressing a complete stranger. His eyes followed the trail of fresh crimson dripping down her form to the bodies scattered along the floor. Some freshly killed, others rotting at her feet. She grinned widely at the recognition of her handiwork. Her teeth were stained with blood, showing no white.

"Valentine likes me to kill. When he gets angry, he feeds them to me." She licked the blood off her lips and threw her head back, moaning at the taste. Jace cringed but forced himself to look away from the shell of the girl he had once loved. His suspicions of what Valentine was doing had been confirmed. It was now that he could see the outlines of bite marks that covered each expanse of skin. Yet, she hadn't turned. She was a monster, but she wasn't a zombie.

It was here that Valentine would continue to change people, to continue to destroy them in the twisted belief that he was actually saving them. He had come down for answers, but the reality of what was being done weighed down upon him. He was Siddhartha, the blind prince seeing the horrible reality of the world in which he had been kept sheltered from. And now, he had to give it all up. His backpack suddenly felt much heavier.

He worked quickly, ignoring Kaelie's thrashing and cruel commentary. The closer he got to finishing what he was about to do, the more Kaelie screamed, and the less time he had before someone would realize his absence. From within his backpack and the supplies he found in Valentine's lab, he had constructed a bomb that would take out the entire lab and all of Valentine's work. At the last second, he chose to stuff the notebooks that contained all of Valentine's research in his bag. He couldn't take the chance that they would survive the fire and the cycle would just keep on going.

"They'll never stop chasing you, you know?" Kaelie cackled, looking positively gleeful at the idea of his eternal suffering at the hands of his uncle. "If you do this, it won't just be the zombies that want to kill you. It'll be the humans too. You're damning yourself to a lifetime of isolation, little prince. You might as well just let me kill you now. I promise I could make it hurt."

Momentarily distracted by Kaelie's glee, he hadn't noticed the arrival of a new figure until it was too late to hide or feign innocence. He heard the man shout at the same time reached for his gun. The man on the other side of the barrel was instantly familiar. Henry. An old family friend. And the scientist behind Valentine's lab. His eyes widened in both horror and confusion at the sight of Jace, but he couldn't relinquish the gun. His mind was rushing, his hands were sweating, and Kaelie was screeching.

"You're going to have to kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiilllllll hiiiiiiiiiiiiim," she hissed with a toothy, Cheshire cat grin. "If you let him live, then Valentine will just keep making more of meeee."

Though Kaelie was a psychopath with the body of a girl and the bloodthirst of a zombie, he knew she was right. Everything he was doing would be useless if Henry lived. Valentine would be slowed down, but not stopped. Henry was whimpering, pleading, calling upon Jace to think of all they had known each other through. His and Charlotte's wedding, the birth of their newborn baby…

But he couldn't hear him. He could only hear the pounding of his own heart. _You've never killed before_ , it thumped. _Can you become a murderer in order to stop one?_

It was a moral dilemma. The costs of his actions were not insignificant. He would be alone, he would be a murderer, he could never stop running. But it all had to be worth it. Valentine wouldn't stop unless Jace took the blow. He wanted to avenge his wife, Jace's aunt, and keep others from dying, even if it meant stripping them of what made them human in the first place.

It was the cost of survival. And, Jace knew, it was up to him to choose humanity's survival over the survival of their species. And over himself.

And, somewhere, some part of his mind knew that all of this was in his head. The choice had already been made, and he knew what he had done. He could still hear the bang of the gun in his hand and feel the heat from the flames that had consumed the lab. It was all over and had been for over a year.

But another part of him knew that after all this time, he was going back. He was returning to the place he had sworn to himself he would never return.

"Jace," he could hear Isabelle's voice hovering over him. A light was beginning to flood his eyelids. His body felt heavier than ever before as he crawled back to consciousness. Once Isabelle saw he was awake, and alive, she hugged him tightly. He hugged her back, sorry for causing her to worry and even sorrier for all he was putting her through. Fresh air filled his lungs and he realized that they were no longer in the sewers, but outside.

"Isabelle—"

"You're getting worse, Jace," she interrupted him, before biting her lip. Whatever she was about to say, she didn't know how he would react. "But we're here. We're outside the Institute."

And, Jace knew that while he had escaped from the community before, once he returned he would never come back out alive.

* * *

Despite the heaviness in Alec's heart after leaving Clary and breaking his promise, he broke into a run the moment he spotted Magnus. The other man turned from his position in the jail cell just in time to catch Alec leaping into his arms and kissing him like the fate of the world depended on it. And at that moment, it felt like it did. His hands made their way to cup his boyfriend's cheeks. He felt wet streaks steadily flowing down his face. Tears. And he knew, he was crying too. It had been so long since they had seen each other. Alec had sacrificed so much to be able to find himself in Magnus's arms once more. But they were together now. They could escape and reclaim their lives. It all just depended on one night. Alec broke away from the kiss, though it pained him to do so. From the expression on Magnus's face, he felt the same.

"I'm sorry, but we can't waste time."

"I wouldn't exactly describe _that_ as wasting time, Alexander," Magnus spoke with a casual smirk. "I think that is a fairly good use of time. In fact, I could show you other things that aren't wastes of time."

Alec swallowed, his face bursting to a deep red. Magnus did not let this fact escape him and was about to go in for one more kiss before Alec stopped him.

"I'm serious, Magnus. We don't have much time if we want to escape."

Alec had found over the course of their relationship that it was difficult to surprise Magnus. Yet, his eyes widened and he looked at Alec warily, as if afraid it was all just a fantasy he would soon awake from.

"Escape?"

Alec nodded and for the second time in the last few minutes, he felt tears well up. Throughout all of the pain Alec had endured in order to protect Magnus, including leaving his siblings, he knew Magnus had fared much worse. The open wounds lining his face and arms were evidence of that.

"There's a girl here—Clary. Valentine took her for some kind of revenge, but she has people who will be coming for her. My siblings and…Jace."

For the second time, Magnus was surprised. Everyone in the camp knew of Jace, the one who had betrayed Valentine and escaped. Alec had only known Jace for a brief time, after Alec had just been captured and was being tortured. He would later discover Jace had been going through a torture of his own, conflicted over whether to betray his uncle. After each torture session, Jace would sneak in and the two would talk. He guessed afterward that Jace had been using Alec to try and make up his mind. Two weeks later, Jace was gone and suddenly everything grew worse. While Alec knew Magnus's personal history with Jace was anything but friendly, they both knew that if anyone could help them take down Valentine, it would be the only one who had done it before.

"Alexander, there's something you should know. Something about what Valentine has been forcing me to do," Magnus said slowly, hesitantly. He looked down, as if ashamed. "Clary isn't here for revenge. She's here because Valentine wants to restart his experiments."

Alec shook his head. "But Jace destroyed his lab. He stole all of his research."

"It doesn't matter. Valentine found a group who managed to steal his research back from Jace and delivered them to Valentine in exchange for admission to the community…he's made me help him. All he needed to do was find a test subject. Why else do you think Valentine would risk letting you come find me?"

Alec felt as if he were falling, though he hadn't moved from the safety of Magnus's embrace. He knew what this meant. Though Alec had told Clary—no, he had promised her—that she would be safe, she was anything but. Alec looked at Magnus and felt a pang run through his heart. How many promises had he broken in his pursuit to reunite? His promise to his family, his promise to Clary. It seemed that though everything he did was to protect those he cared for, he continually failed. His only comfort was the knowledge that Isabelle and Max were safe, far away from this place. With them away, he could begin to work on a new beginning, a plan for redemption. One that started with keeping his promise to Clary.

"Magnus, are the solar panels still powering the security cameras?"

His boyfriend nodded and their eyes locked. He knew the guilt that plagued him, the choices he couldn't escape from. It was clear what Alec's intentions were. Magnus didn't press him and instead led him to the security room at the end of the hall. Screens lined the walls, showing the events of the Institute.

Magnus immediately sucked in a breath. "A herd is coming right for us," he whispered. But Alec wasn't looking at the herd. His focus was on a flash of black hair that mirrored his own. Isabelle. His heart thudded, whether from love or terror, he couldn't be sure. She was with Jace, prowling the halls of the Institute. They were here. They were really here.

But in the wake of his terror and excitement, Alec narrowed his eyes. Something felt wrong. So egregiously wrong that he didn't want to think of it, wanted to look away and pretend nothing was there. But he couldn't. He had known Jace would come but hadn't been sure of his siblings. Yet in every possibility he had run through, none existed where Isabelle would have left Max behind.

And then, Alec was forced to confront the secret Clary had chosen to keep from him. It had been after he asked for her help to free Magnus so he could return to Izzy and Max. He remembered her face fell. She had looked at him pityingly.

 _"_ _Alec, there's something you should know."_

And in that moment, he knew to brace himself for the worst. He knew that if she was about to tell him what he feared, it would be all over. He would be done. Maybe that's why she kept it from him.

But now there was no denying the truth. The only reason Isabelle would have come without Max was if…

He was so young. Too young. And they had spoiled him, sheltered him from the new reality. But there was a reason kids in the apocalypse were so rare.

Alec felt like he couldn't breathe. Max was so young. _So young_. And Alec had thought he would be okay. That Isabelle would take care of him. That it would all be worth it when he could see him again. But he wasn't even able to say goodbye. And if he had been there, he could have saved his brother.

And it was then that Alec knew Valentine had known all along. His men had been watching Clary's group, reporting back to Valentine, for weeks. Alec had asked him about his siblings and the man had smiled, patted his back, and assured him all was well. Like Clary, Valentine had his own reasons for hiding the truth from him. Clary hadn't wanted him to fall apart and endanger their escape. Valentine hadn't wanted another Jace.

But he was about to get one. His grief had been channeled into a blazing fury and it was now he knew his plan for redemption had changed. He would repent for what he had done not by simply helping others escape The Institute, but by destroying the very thing that had kept him from his siblings in the first place. By the night's end, he would ensure there was no Institute left standing.

Alec's attention immediately fell upon the cameras showing the perimeter of the building. Magnus had been right about a herd bigger than they had ever seen closing in on them. A storm was coming, they knew, and they would be the ones to let in the rain. But, despite their connection, Magnus didn't know the dangerous thoughts that had settled within the blue eyed boy's mind.

"Do you remember me telling you how Clary, Jace, and my siblings escaped the mall?" His voice was quiet, almost in a daze. Magnus nodded, though his attention was not on Alec, but on a screen.

"How can I forget when that's all anyone in this place ever seems to talk about," Magnus sighed with a dramatic air. "If only Chairman Meow were still alive. He was far better conversation than any of these oafs. And he never locked me up and forced me to experiment on humans. Sometimes it's the little things. "

Alec carried on, too swept up in his thumping heartbeat to respond. "What if we were to multiply that to an extreme amount? Enough to make sure all of this is destroyed."

Alec had expected an enthusiastic response and a promise to be by his side in helping to accomplish such a feat. But Magnus was quiet. It was a while before Magnus finally looked up at Alec.

"There are innocent people here, Alexander. Children. How would you feel if it were Max someone wanted to unleash a herd on?"

"Well, I don't have to worry about that anymore because Max is dead!" His voice broke into a choke. "My brother is dead. I wasn't there to stop it. I wasn't there for him and now I will never get to say goodbye. This is on Valentine. He has to pay. He can't just…"

Magnus was there for him within a moment, gathering him in his arms and holding him as sobs racked through his body. He would have to live with the guilt of the choices he had made for the rest of his life.

"I'm sorry," Magnus breathed into his hair. "I'm so sorry, but this isn't right. We can get revenge on Valentine, but we can't become him in the process."

"I know," Alec whispered, his chest aching. "I just need to do something."

Magnus lifted his head and with a curse, muttered, "We may not have much time."

"What are you talking ab—"

And then he saw it too. Reflected on the screen was Clary, alone, defenseless against a herd of zombies streaming into a room with no exits. He sucked in a breath, shaking his head in disbelief.

"But the herd isn't here yet. There's no way…" he trailed off, the reality quickly becoming clear to him. "Valentine. He's doing this."

Magnus nodded, but his attention was on a different screen altogether. "That's not all. It seems we've got company."

Isabelle and Jace were prowling through the halls, but unbeknownst to them, members of Valentine's group were coming towards them on either side.

Alec and Magnus looked to one another and both of them knew that at that moment, they didn't know what would happen by the end of the night, but whatever it was, it would be big.

"It seems this is our swan song," Magnus said, with a hint of sadness as well as hope.

"I don't know if I'm ready," Alec said, his eyes not straying from the form of his sister. The only family he had left. "What if she hates me? What if she can't forgive me, after all I've done?"

Magnus sighed, intertwining his fingers with Alec's. "We can spend our entire lives asking what if, but our questions and fears don't change anything. Our actions do. The best way to ask for your sister's forgiveness is by being there for her now, and making sure we all come out of this alive."

Alec paused, finally looking away from the screen into Magnus's eyes. They were full of love and trust but also fear. Magnus wasn't a fighter, but instead, the one on the sidelines who couldn't be bothered with the business of others.

"You really want to fight?"

Magnus shook his head. "No, but I will go anywhere for you Alexander. I've never been the type to stupidly rush into a battle, however, I would be honored to fight by your side."

Alec didn't attempt hiding the dumb grin on his face. He was in love and he would never be as in love as he was right then, with the man before him. Even if he died, he would die loving Magnus and he couldn't imagine a better way to go.

"Then I guess we better figure out a plan," Alec breathed. He straightened himself, trying to be the leader he was always supposed to be. "Where's Valentine in all of this?"

"That's where it seems we have a problem."

"What?"

He could see it now. Jace and Isabelle were heading towards Clary. And where Clary was, Valentine was waiting. If there was anything Alec was absolutely sure of, it was that Valentine knew Jace and Isabelle were there. He had been counting on it. They had never stood a chance.

"What do we do?"

Blood pounded in Alec's ears. His heart raced. There wasn't much time. If they were going to do anything, it would have to be now.

"I think I have an idea," Alec muttered, his gaze flitting back to the screen showing Jace, Isabelle, Clary, and Valentine nearly on top of each other. "I just hope we all survive the night."

* * *

 **Alternate titles for this chapter were: Jace is Dying and Alec is Crying, The Growingly Intense Filler Before The Big Finale, and Not The Reunion You Guys Were Looking For But Still Cute.**

 **So it's come to my attention that very soon after I made a note criticizing the show Shadowhunters on this story, it got canceled. So I'm gonna take that as confirmation that I have power beyond my control and you guys should be sure to review because the next two chapters are the big ones. They are also the last chapters. And unlike this chapter, those are all ready to post so when it happens depends on you. (And my limited self control). 12 reviews for an immediate update. Let's finish this story strong!**

 **Also, the real reunion is up next. Get pumped.**

 **Thank you for reading, reviewing, and supporting this story in any way. This is for you!**

 **-Anika**


	19. May We Meet Again

**Here we go, less than 24 hours after the last chapter because you guys are awesome and also a little scary. Buckle up, these last few chapters are going to be long ones.**

* * *

Jace had never been religious, but at that moment, he liked to believe there was life after death. As everyone close to death would.

"Jace, we need to move," Isabelle's urgent whisper barely registered. "…can you move?"

Slumped against a wall, sweating, he wasn't sure he could answer.

"God, Jace, we need to hide. Shit…"

Jace wished he could help. Really, he did. The desperation in Isabelle's voice made him want to leap from his position and prepare for the fight that was no doubt headed for them. It was only a matter of time before the two were discovered, before the infamous traitor was recognized, and the armada came crashing down around them. But as much as he wanted to, Jace couldn't save them. With every second that passed where Jace's body refused to move, he was actively destroying them.

He heard what sounded like footsteps coming closer followed by a filthy slew of hushed cursing from Isabelle before she murmured, "I have a plan. Don't freak out and just play along."

Then, there was a firm pressure on his lips as she passionately threw herself against him. The shock was enough to wake him from his spell, bursting his eyes wide open. His hands moved to her waist instinctually, prepared to push her away, when her words hit him. Instead, he pulled her closer, as close as he could, and hoped she had a damn good reason for the show. His lips now moved in sync with hers, though he wasn't sure her addition of tongue was quite necessary. Isabelle raked her hands through his hair in a desperate thrash, moving as if he were her only source of air. He felt a tug and, with a slight roll of his eyes, his hands moved to catch Isabelle's legs as they wrapped themselves around him.

In the midst of their display, they could hear a group of snickers walk passed. Jace felt his heartbeat accelerate rapidly until the giggling faded. After a few beats of silence afterward, the two paused.

"Are they gone?" Isabelle whispered, her breath fanning his lips. He opened his eyes to the now desolate hallway and nodded. As soon as he did, the two wasted no time jumping away from one another.

"Was that really necessary?" Jace scowled at the unfazed girl readjusting her clothing. She rolled her eyes at him.

"Well, considering you were practically comatose in the hallway I didn't exactly have many options unless I wanted them to see you and blow our entire cover. I just had to bank on them not being perverts so they wouldn't look too closely at Valentine's Most Wanted."

It wasn't a bad plan, he had to admit. And Isabelle Lightwood certainly wasn't the worst kisser. Yet, he couldn't help but feel annoyed that now he not only had to break it to Clary that he was dying, but that he and Isabelle had been forced to make out but it didn't actually mean anything.

The thought of Clary made him wipe his lips, as if he could erase the strategically necessary betrayal. Isabelle scoffed at him.

"Chill, Jace. It wasn't like kissing you was a dream either. I honestly wonder what Clary sees in you. Way too much manhandling for my taste."

"Thanks for the review, however misguided it might be," and, despite the situation, Jace smirked cockily at her in a way that felt both achingly familiar and foreign. "Trust me, I have _many_ references who say the contrary and _much more_. Maybe it's you that's the problem."

They had a mission. A time sensitive plan. A damsel in need of rescuing by her golden god of a half dead hero. Yet, their banter made him feel lighter, more awake. Maybe it also had something to do with Clary being somewhere in that same building. She was closer than she had been in days. He had to see her. His most recent episode was just a reminder that he needed to work quicker.

Isabelle glanced at him as the two began to match pace forwards.

"They're getting worse," Isabelle said, referring to his spreading virus. "The attacks are getting closer together."

"That's what happens when you're dying."

"Shut up."

He sighed but consented all the same. A beat passed before she murmured, "Say what you want about my kissing, but it must have been good enough to resuscitate you considering you couldn't even walk ten minutes ago."

Just like that, a smirk pulled at his lips. She winked at him jokingly.

"It was just so bad that I knew I had to move just to get away from you."

The joking worked as a distraction from the danger they currently faced while searching the building for signs of Alec, Valentine, or Clary. But no amount of distraction could fully pull his thoughts away from the red hair he imagined around every corner. Was she hurting at that moment, feet away from where he stood? What if he passed her, oblivious, while she cried his name for help? He shook those thoughts aside. Not only were they not doing him any good, but he also knew Clary would more likely be cursing at him than crying out for him to save her. It was the first thing he had ever loved about her. He was closer to death, but he was also closer to her. Jace intended to win this race.

"Holy shit," Isabelle whispered. Once again, Jace had gotten distracted by thoughts of Clary and failed to see a group of Valentine's people exiting what Jace recognized as the kitchens. He shook his head, grasping Isabelle's wrist and ducking into a shadowy alcove.

"It's okay," he said. "They're too far away. They didn't notice us."

But Isabelle was shaking. Jace's brows furrowed, looking at her. It wasn't like this had been the first encounter they had come across and in others they had been much closer to being caught. What could have been causing this reaction from her?

"It's them," she growled, clenching her fists tightly. "The old people who stole our medicine, our supplies, your supplies."

It was now Jace realized Isabelle wasn't shaking from fear, but anger.

"They were working for Valentine all along." It was clear that the revelation wasn't for Jace, but for herself. "They deserve to die like him."

Jace caught her wrist as she rushed forward.

"Let go," she spat, eyes trained on the prey she longed to kill. "You should want them dead too. They nearly killed Clary spreading that blood on the ground. They stole whatever it was that you took from Valentine and most likely delivered it to him on a silver platter."

Jace's grip faltered just enough for Isabelle to wrench herself free. And as much as he knew he should, he didn't have it in himself to stop her. But he didn't have to. She barely made it two steps before another had her locked within their grip, trapping her. Jace froze, though he couldn't see their face. _Move,_ his mind urged him, just as he was hit by another coughing fit that rendered him useless. _What good are you trying to burst in here and save everyone when you can't even save yourself?_

"Let me go," Isabelle hissed, thrashing in her captor's arms. He grunted but didn't relent.

"You have to stop this Isabelle."

Immediately, the fight fell from her body. And though Jace could barely breathe from the coughs racking his body, he felt whatever breath was left catch at the familiar voice. Amidst the shadowy alcove, a beam of light brushed over the angular features of Isabelle's brother. And, the one he had once called friend.

Isabelle laughed sardonically. " _I_ have to stop this? Tough words for you to say, big brother. After all, you could have stopped all of this. It's because of you that Max and I were alone when their group—which it turns out you were a part of—came and killed all of our people. It's because of you that the two of us were then forced to run after you sheltered us and Max was _bitten_. And then these people that _you_ want to protect stole any medicine that might have helped him."

From Jace's position, he could see the hunched shoulders of someone broken inside. Alec's deep blue eyes were flushed with tears at the mention of his little brother.

"I know about Max," he choked. "And I know what you must think of me. I think the same when I lie awake at night. But killing them is not the answer. You want to blame someone for his death, then blame me. But no matter who you blame, it won't change things."

"He deserves vengeance. Justice."

"He deserves more than any of us, but that doesn't mean we should continue inflicting pain and calling it justice. Max wouldn't want this."

"How would you know?" Tears were now streaming down Isabelle's cheeks. "You weren't there. You didn't have to watch him die."

There was a pause as Alec looked away from her, from guilt or shame Jace couldn't be sure. His adam's apple throbbed before he looked back to her.

"I never left by choice. Valentine and his men took me and Magnus to torture us for information on our group. Every day, for six weeks, I was tortured. He told me he would let us go if we told them what they wanted. I made a deal instead: he could do whatever he wanted to me and I would stay as long as he promised you and Max would be safe."

He took in a breath, his voice choking and eyes shining as he continued, "I never left you, I stayed to keep you safe. And after Jace blew up Valentine's lab and killed his scientist, forcing Magnus to be his replacement, I began working for Valentine to buy his freedom. _Everything_ I've ever done has been for those I love. You can hate me, but don't act like I didn't care enough about our family!"

Isabelle shook her head, her will to fight shattering completely as she fell into the comforting embrace of the big brother she was tired of pushing away. A sob escaped him as he greedily wrapped his arms around her. The two siblings sank to the floor, sobbing, but together. None of them were completely blameless, but they were capable of being forgiven. Jace hoped that if there was anything after death, he could be forgiven too.

"Alec," a new voice interrupted. "The herd is moving towards us. If we're going to do this, we have to move soon. And we may not be able to go back for Clarissa."

It was like lightning had been jammed straight through him. Jace burst up, his gaze hard at the new figure.

"We aren't doing anything without Clary."

The man looked at Jace with distaste.

"Well, if it isn't the one responsible for my months of captivity and slavery," he clucked. "Though you may have fantasized about rushing in and saving her with a brilliant blaze of glory and heroism, this is a much larger operation than you and your week long romance."

"Magnus," Alec chided. Magnus regarded him with a sigh and a flourish of his hand.

" _Fine._ A herd is coming that none of us are fit to fight our way out of. Alexander and I have found a map of The Institute that shows a bunker equipped to hold the camp's inhabitants with enough food to survive at least a few months. To ensure the survival of humanity, we have to gather everyone and when the herd arrives, trigger the explosives we'll have set up."

"What does that have to do with Clary?" Isabelle protested before Jace could. Magnus's expression grew mournful.

"Valentine forced me to participate in much that I am not proud of. If Clarissa survives the next ten minutes, then that fate will be forced upon her. Alec and I examined every option, but she's too close to Valentine at the moment. If we were to attempt to rescue her, there would be no time to save us all."

And though Magnus had his reasons to despise Jace, he looked at him with genuine pity. The expression alone made all the hope he had stubbornly held on to wither inside.

"I'm sorry. Truly. But I've run the numbers and there just wouldn't be time."

Jace could hear his pulse thrum at an increasing pace. Red flashed in his vision, blinding him. _Kill him_ , the voices inside hissed. _Make him pay. Make him bleeeeeed._ And he wanted to. Until he remembered Clary. He couldn't give in to the growing beast that lived within when she was still out there. Magnus had said there wouldn't be enough time to make it back and survive. But what if he wasn't destined to survive anyway?

"I'll go," Jace said, not leaving any room for argument. "Just tell me where she is."

"It's a suicide mission," Magnus argued. Alec's eyes were equally wide, but Isabelle knew. Her chest had deflated and her eyes watered, but she understood. His eyes met hers and she nodded. He smiled sadly in return. He had done his part returning her to her family. She would be safe now. It was time to say goodbye.

"I'm already dead." With a shaking hand, he tore back his sleeve to expose the red hot bite stark against his skin. "I'm not going with you anyways. I can save her."

Alec and Magnus paled at the sight of his condition. Jace saw Alec swallow roughly, looking at him. The two shared a look, a reminder of the past history they had shared. Within the walls of The Institute, Alec and Jace had been friends. And though their friendship had been put aside as the two found themselves on opposing sides, and Jace became the accidental catalyst to his boyfriend's enslavement, it was still there. Jace faked a smile.

"Hey, we always knew I'd be the first to go down."

Alec frowned. "That's because you were never careful."

"At least you don't have to be stuck in a bunker with me."

Though Jace had been trying to lighten the mood, the air stilled. His chest felt considerably tighter when he turned to Magnus.

"Let me be the one to set off the explosives. I can be your eyes on the ground to make sure they go off at the right moment after Clary is safe. And I'll make sure Valentine goes down with me."

Magnus spared a glance at Alec, who was looking anywhere but Jace with stubbornly crossed arms. Jace could barely detect the smallest of nods passed between the two. Isabelle bit her lip before running to capture him in a hug.

"Thank you," she whispered, "for not making me watch you die too."

He nodded into her neck.

"I could say the same for you," he responded, quiet enough to conceal his words from Isabelle's brother. She ducked her head, no doubt remembering how close she had been to giving up completely.

"Hey," he caught her attention gently. "Not many could do what you did. You're one of the strongest people I've ever met. If I had to bet on anyone who could survive this place, my money's on you."

She released him, brushed back a tear, and stepped back. Alec was next. He looked to be internally debating, which wasn't anything particularly unusual, but this looked more serious. His hands fiddled with something Jace couldn't see.

"So far this whole dying thing has sucked," Jace remarked blithely. "Maybe it'll teach me to listen to you next time."

"You still won't."

Jace cracked a smile.

"Nah, you're right. I'm hopeless."

Alec pursed his lips once more. Magnus eyed the two carefully.

"Alexander, you don't have to—"

"No, I do. I can. I just—" Alec returned his gaze to Jace. "I need you to tell Clary that I'm sorry I couldn't protect her like I promised. And, I forgive her for not telling me about Max."

He inhaled nervously. "I also need you to tell her that Jem was a success. And, if she chooses, there can be another."

He held out his hand, revealing a rectangular wooden box with scorched edges. Jace eyed it warily.

"Give it to her. She'll understand."

Jace wanted to ask who Jem was and what was inside, but time was ticking. He wanted to see her so badly. He took the box with a nod, tucking it inside his jacket. He turned to Magnus, who held the detonation trigger in his hand.

"Clary will need to be at least 600 meters away from the blast, but I imagine the bigger problem will be the herd. Though if she survives her current predicament I imagine she might stand a chance."

Jace nodded. "We'll cross that road when we get there."

Magnus made a disapproving sound in the back of his throat. Clearly, the news of Jace's death hadn't done much to clear the bad blood he felt towards him. Jace couldn't blame him.

"Valentine has her trapped in the West Wing where Alec was first held as a prisoner. I'm sure you already know that Valentine will most likely be near and is probably already aware of your presence?"

"I'm counting on it," he replied grimly, turning away from the three and beginning to move. Time was ticking.

"Even if you save her," Magnus's voice called to him grimly, "you're damning her to a fate where she has to watch you die and becomes alone once more. Is this fate kinder?"

Jace didn't turn back. He couldn't. He couldn't wonder whether Magnus was right, or if saving her was selfish, he could only move. He had to.

* * *

Ten, twenty, thirty…

Too many. There were too many for her to take. Too many...

The knife felt heavy in Clary's shaking hand. For a moment, she glanced down, staring at her own reflection in the deadly blade. Could she do it? The blade edged closer to her heart. _It would be over quickly,_ her mind rationalized. _You would die on your own terms, not theirs, not Valentine's._

She felt a sharp pressure prick her chest. It would only take a push. That was all she needed. Just one…

 _"_ _I need you to promise me that, if I don't make it, you'll keep fighting. That you'll be strong."_

Her brother's voice rang through her head, stopping her, nearly destroying her. She had made a promise. Even if she died in the coming moments, she would have to honor it. Valentine had taken everything away from her. Her friends, her weapons, her safety, her life. Jace. But he wouldn't take the fight from her.

She cast the blade in her hand away from her chest and into the zombie that she had been too distracted to notice. A choke escaped her, which grew into a growl. _I'll show you what a real survivor looks like._ Her gaze narrowed and she plunged the knife downwards in a steady rip. A _slurping_ sound followed as her parallel slice opened and all of the zombie's blood, guts, and tissue spilled outwards. Clary breathed in, the stench overwhelming her senses and making her throat feel tight with the urge to throw up.

Not now. If this would truly be her final moments, she would not show weakness. It was time to make her brother proud. And, she knew Jace would never forgive her if she went out without a fight.

Jace…

A new shade of red blinded Clary's vision. She lashed out, all attack and no strategy but to kill. She wanted to make them hurt. She wanted them all to bleed. Cut, stab, rip, tear, claw. All she saw was blood. Never before had she so longed to kill, but it felt right. It felt powerful. It felt…

Clary dropped her knife. It clattered to the ground, causing a few zombies to look up, but they didn't come towards her. There must have been at least fifty zombies in the room, circling and milling about the space aimlessly. The one she had so mercilessly slaughtered lay at her feet, blood and guts drowning her bare feet. She stared at the scene, no longer so much afraid, but confused. Why were they not rushing to kill her? Why were they acting as if there wasn't a living, breathing human practically served up on a platter?

 _Am I seriously not good enough for them to want to eat_? She couldn't help but feel offended. _Damn picky zombies. They'd be lucky to get a piece of me. I bet I'd be tasty as hell!_

She continued to stare openly at the room and its milling occupants before braving the movement it would take to retrieve the knife she had dropped. A head or two turned in her direction but lost interest in her just as quickly before continuing their existence of wandering and moaning. Her mouth fell open, gawking, before immediately closing and spitting out the disgusting new taste in her mouth as quietly as possible. She had underestimated how much of the zombie's guts had gotten on her in the midst of her brutality. Thick liquid the shade of menstruation coated her from head to toe. With a shiver, she flicked off whatever organ had somehow landed upon her shoulder. What organ it was, she didn't want to know. Her hand went to brush off more of the disgusting slime from her skin when she paused.

The gears in her brain were turning at high gear, though her ration was telling her the idea was insane. Absolutely, batshit crazy. It had been just a rumor she had heard. Some campfire story that survivors had told as a joke, or maybe as some drugged up trip. She hadn't cared to spend enough time with them to find out the answer. But if the story was true…

Slowly, with her heart beating faster than she could ever remember, Clary stepped over the body of the zombie she had killed, entering into the herd. She tensed, her hand gripping her sad excuse for a knife as if it could shield her from whatever pain was surely about to come. _They had just wanted their meal to come to them_ , her mind rationalized. _Oh god, it's going to hurt when they all tear into you at once, you stupid girl._

A zombie was moving toward her, closer and closer. Her breath stilled to the point she was almost sure she had killed herself on sight. It moved past, bumping into her slightly but paying her no mind. She nearly fell to the ground and cried, whether from joy or fear or exhilaration she was yet to be sure.

They couldn't see her. That much was obvious. By being covered in the zombie's blood, she had inadvertently given herself a shield. Slowly, a grin began to form. The reality settled in upon her and she repeated it like a chant as if to convince herself of the truth. _They think you're one of them. They can't see you. You're going to live._

Her grip flexed around the knife in her hand and the grin grew wider. She would survive, but they would not. She would make sure of it.

The way she moved across the room was like a dance. Each stab was a beat to a victorious choreography. They all fell, one by one. By the end, Clary couldn't remember ever seeing so much blood. So much carnage. Some part of her mind whispered to her, nagged at her. _They were all human once too._

"We all were human once," she whispered to an empty room. "Now, I have to make sure we have the chance to reclaim what that means."

To do that, Valentine had to die. Clary took one last glance around the room. _What is more blood_ , she thought, _when we all bleed the same anyways._

It was only after exiting the room she had been sure she would die in that she began to question whether it was all a dream. Could it be real that she was alive, breathing, heart beating, pulse thrumming as if on fire? Was she meant to survive, and keep surviving, after all this time? After all she had been through?

"Clary." Her name was exhaled as a breath and suddenly she found herself breathless. She knew that voice. She knew its owner.

"I'm dreaming," she murmured absently, not turning. The weight had settled upon her chest like a sick thud. It had been too good to be true. It had been—

"Clary, please, for the love of god, look at me."

Her breath caught, but she listened to the voice that she knew as well as her own heartbeat. It was only when she was looking at him that she realized how scared she had been that she wouldn't see him again. She had tried to dissuade the thought, of course, but it had prodded at her nonetheless.

"Jace."

He took her in, still a few feet away. She could make out the adam's apple in his throat bob as he looked at her. No, not at her, she realized. She was still drenched in blood and gore from the remnants of her massacre. A wave of self consciousness flooded over her and she wrapped her arms around herself tightly. The reality of what had just been done was sinking in. And it was Jace's fault, she knew. It was when he first arrived in her life that he made her care rather than just trying to survive. And now, she knew that she cared about what he thought of her. Would he think she was disgusting? That she didn't have to kill them all; that she could have just left instead of killing out of a sick sense of pleasure? It wasn't about survival, it was about revenge for making her afraid.

It all hit her at once. Everything. Being kidnapped, what Valentine said to her, not knowing if she would see Jace again, and being faced with the closest she had ever come to death. Tears began to well up and everything began to flow from her at once. She needed to get it out.

"I—there were so many of them and they were everywhere and I thought I would die and Valentine, the things he said—"

Her throat felt tighter and more constricted with each word that rushed out of her mouth, but soon all of that was erased by Jace crushing her body to his own and stealing her lips in one swoop. It didn't matter that she was covered in blood or that his hands trembled as he held her. He was there. And wrapped up in him, she could feel safe again. Even as he pulled away, looking at her as if the building was set to explode at any moment.

"This building is going to explode, we have to hurry," he breathed, already beginning to pull her down the corridor. Clary blinked, her eyes going wide.

"Wait, what?"

Jace carried on as if he hadn't heard her.

"But that isn't even the biggest of our problems. There's a herd headed directly for us—the biggest yet—and I have to make sure you're safe."

"They won't be a problem. I figured it out! When I was trapped in the room with the herd, all I had was a knife and when I cut one and their guts spilled over me, it masked my scent and I was able to walk through them. All we need to do is cover you in the guts and we can walk through—"

Jace had stopped his mad dash, turning slowly to look at her. There was something in his gaze that made it feel like he was looking at a stranger.

"Clary," he spoke carefully, studying her, "that doesn't work. I've seen people try it before and they were eaten on the spot."

She shook her head. "But, it worked for me. I—"

"What exactly did Valentine say to you before? Did he do anything to you or—"

Clary ripped her arm from Jace as he begun inspecting her for signs of tampering.

"The real question is what you're trying to imply. I wouldn't lie to you! Maybe those other guys just didn't do it right!"

Jace paused, furrowing his gaze as he took her in. Finally, he shook his head saying, "you're right. I'm sorry. I…I was just being paranoid. I'm sorry."

He took her in his arms, and she let him, but she wondered whether he truly believed her or was just trying to make himself believe her. Following his lead, she shook the thoughts away, kissing him once more. How had she spent so many weeks with him, not realizing how good kissing him would feel? He smiled into her lips, likely wondering the same.

"God, I missed you," he murmured, clutching her tighter against him. "I'm not letting you out of my sight until I die."

She grinned, getting that girly fluttering within her that she was learning to enjoy. She leaned into him and with a flirty husk that she reserved only for him whispered, "Well I guess we better make sure that isn't for a long time."

Jace sucked in a breath sharply, clutching her to him even tighter.

"I'm sorry," he breathed into her hair. "I'm so sorry."

"Jace?" She pulled away, looking up at him. He was trembling more than he had before, which immediately struck her as odd as she had always known him to be steady and precise. A pit was stirring in her gut, telling her something was wrong. She looked to him desperately, urging him to quiet the gnawing.

"I—" he paused, caught on her eyes. Whatever he was about to say to her died in his throat. Instead, he reached into his jacket and retrieved a small wooden box.

"Alec. He uh…he wanted me to give this to you. He said he forgave you about Max and was sorry. And he wanted me to tell you that Jem was a success and if you choose, there can be another."

Clary took the box, her brows furrowing.

"Who's Jem? And what does that mean 'if I choose'?"

Jace shook his head. "I don't know but," he cupped her cheek with his palm, his expression desperate, "there's something else I need to tell you."

"Jace, you're scaring me."

He chuckled, though nothing about his expression showed humor.

"Just know that I love you, I do, and I don't regret loving you. Which is why I'm sorry because—"

Jace paused, stumbling a bit. Her heart raced as she moved to steady him.

"Jace, what's—"

No sooner had the words left her lips had Jace collapsed, his eyes rolling back in his head.

"Jace!" She slid to the floor with him, shaking him desperately. "Jace, what's wrong? What happened? Jace!"

"My dear, didn't I warn you that you would watch everyone you loved die?"

Valentine.

* * *

 **And here is where we** **collectively die. Okay, so I know you guys are worried about how this story is going to end. A lot of you have said you're afraid to read the next chapter. So I'm just going to ask that you all trust me. It's going to be okay.**

 **But, now that we've said our goodbyes to Alec, Magnus, and Isabelle we move to a Clary-Jace-Valentine showdown. The next chapter is going to be good. I'm going to raise the bar to 18 reviews for an immediate update and I hope I can see you guys real soon.**

 **-Anika**


	20. The Cost of Survival

**This is it. I know you guys are excited, but mostly anxious, so you probably won't read this anyways. So, all I'll say is read it to the end for it to make sense.**

* * *

Clary was six years old when she watched her grandmother die. She could remember the hospital, with its bright lights and uncomfortable chairs. Jonathan had fallen asleep beside her and their parents were too busy huddled together to notice that her crayon broke. With a snap of a red Crayola, so snapped her distraction. She was short for her age which made it easier for her to slip away unnoticed amidst the flurry of rushing legs and gurneys. Somehow, she managed to slip in the room her grandmother was in unnoticed. Briefly, her attention was caught by the slowly beeping box, but at six her attention was fleeting. It quickly returned to the form of her grandmother, who was quiet. Clary padded up to her bed, peeking up at her.

"Grandma," she prodded, "I drew a picture for you."

She waited a moment, maybe two, before shaking her. The woman grunted slightly. _A good sign_ , Clary thought with a smile. Eventually, the woman's eyes weakly flickered open. Clary grinned brightly, proudly holding up her drawing.

"Sorry my crayon broke, but they said you were sick so I wanted to make you better."

Her grandmother smiled gently, though her eyes looked sad. Clary focused on the smile, proud of her work that was good enough to heal her grandma. _And Jonathan wanted to make her a card_ , she scoffed.

"I hope you don't lose your smile," the woman spoke faintly, with much effort. Clary had to strain to hear her. Once more, her grandma's eyes closed shut. For a moment, everything was quiet. All Clary could hear was the sound of her own breath. That was interrupted by the beeping box letting out a long screech. Clary jumped, turning back to her sleeping Grandma.

"I'm sorry Grandma, I didn't do it, I swear."

Yet, the woman didn't stir. How could she not hear the scream?

When the doctors and her parents swarmed into the room, they found Clary continuing to try waking her grandmother. In the chaos, her parents would sit her down and tell her through tearstained eyes about death. One day they would all die. Even her parents, even her brother, and even Clary. If they were lucky, they would die in their sleep, surrounded by their loved ones. Like her grandma just had, right in front of her. No one really knows what lies after death, though many pretend to. But most people believe that when you are a good person, you and your family are reunited once again. One day, hopefully, they would all be together again.

"But," they supplied, "that won't happen for a very long time."

Years later, in what was most definitely not the very long time she had been promised, all she knew was death. Her mother. Her father. Simon. Jonathan. The family she let Jonathan kill. Max. The countless others she had watched die, reaching out to her for help which she could not give. It only made sense that she would have to watch Jace die too.

He fell and for a minute, Clary no longer saw him. In his place were the countless others she had loved who had been taken from her. The vision filled her with so much terror that at first, she hadn't even realized he was still breathing. But he was. Quiet and rough, but breathing. Alive. He wasn't dead…something had just been done to him. Or someone, Clary thought as Valentine's shoes entered her line of sight.

"What did you do to him?" She growled, looking up at the only true monster she had ever known. Valentine didn't glance at her, his attention focused on the seizing boy in her arms.

"No matter what he may think, he is still family. I wouldn't harm him," he stooped down, moving to discard Jace's shirt. Clary pulled Jace's body away protectively. Valentine paused, regarding the girl with varied levels of disinterest, before continuing against her protests. Clary's fighting and efforts to push him off only halted when Jace's arm was bare. She fell back, scrambling from the man she had been fighting to protect only moments beforehand. Valentine paused too, taking in the familiar crescent shaped bite wound that marked his skin. There was no surprise in his gaze, but disappointment.

"He's been bitten," Valentine remarked. "Judging by the bite, I would say it occurred roughly three to four days ago. He doesn't have long."

Of course, Clary knew this too. She had seen enough people bitten to recognize the stages. And if she hadn't been so blinded by happiness when she saw him, she may have put the pieces together earlier. With a shaking breath, she forced herself to look at him. A flash of gold around his neck immediately caught her eye. She angled herself to get a better look when a crash sounded, followed by the ever distinct groaning of zombies. The herd had arrived.

"We have to move to safety. The bite won't kill us but they can still feast and feast they shall," Valentine grabbed her forearm, pulling her up. She skidded her feet, forcing him to stop. Her heart pounded as loudly and violently as a whitewater rapid.

"What did you do to me?"

"Little girl, we hardly have the time to—"

" _What did you do to me!_ " She screeched. He paused, seeming to debate his options.

After a few moments, he drawled, "If you come with me without fighting, I will tell you."

She hesitated, her gaze drawn to the man still lying unconscious and bare chested on the floor. Valentine shook his head.

"As hard as this may be, he's as good as gone. If we bring him with us then we will just have to kill him ourselves or be eaten. He'll be with his kind momentarily."

She forced away the images Valentine supplied. Jace, with deadened eyes and rotting skin. Blood dripping down his mouth. Hovering over her, lunging for the kill. Not recognizing her as anything but a meal. She wasn't ready for those yet. There was never a way to be ready. At the moment, he was alive. To her, that's all that mattered.

"I'm not a child," Clary hissed. "I know how this ends. But I'm not leaving him."

There was another crash, followed by a woman's scream. She crossed her arms, looking to Valentine with a hint of smugness. His jaw was tight as he wordlessly urged her to collect Jace and follow. She was quick to hoist his weight onto her own, gathering him by the waist and levering his arm across her shoulder. His head bobbed, so close to her neck. She swallowed. As they moved, Clary's gaze was once more caught upon a flash of gold around Jace's neck. Her breath caught.

She hadn't seen the Clockwork Angel since before the apocalypse, the last time she had seen Tessa. It was the only one in existence, as far as she knew. Which meant either that after Tessa died, it had been passed from one pickpocket to another until somehow Jace had picked it up or…

She ripped the chain from Jace's neck, pocketing the angel. It would prove important if she was able to survive the night. Of course, her survival wasn't what she was most worried about at the moment. She continued to avoid looking at Jace. What if she saw his skin fading to a yellowish green? What if he opened his eyes and they were no longer his? What if she looked at him and it suddenly became real? It was all too great of a risk. Better to avoid those thoughts, she figured. While she still could.

Valentine turned, practically pushing the two into a dark windowless room covered in screens. He locked the heavy iron door behind him, sealing the three inside for whatever may come. Clary lowered Jace onto the floor before stepping away from him. Valentine smirked at the action.

"What a touching display of young love."

She crossed her arms defensively, not looking at Jace or Valentine, but the room itself. Screens were mounted along the wall, showing the entirety of The Institute. Zombies were now beginning to roam in packs, flooding in through now broken doors and windows. But while Clary could see the zombies and the chaos they sought to inflict, there was very little in terms of victims. Or even the blood soaked remains of victims.

"Where is everyone?" She murmured, remembering hours earlier the amount she had encountered just going through the halls. How had they so easily vanished?

"Your friend Alec is behind that. Him, his sister, my lead scientist, and Jace concocted a plan to gather our community's people into an underground bunker and blow up The Institute, including you and I."

Clary remembered how frantic Jace had been when they had reunited. This is what he had been warning her of. And now, they were trapped in a metal tin can awaiting either the herd or a fiery death.

"I'm assuming you knew this entire time?"

Valentine beamed with pride, saying, "Nothing happens here that I am not privy to. I knew Alec would betray me after he left you, I knew when Jace and Isabelle arrived. And the only reason they escaped to that bunker is that I allowed it."

Valentine leaned down, moving to collect something from Jace's pocket. It was black and circular, unassuming in appearance and topped with a red button.

"There were many flaws with their plan. One of the largest being how they intended to escape when the rubble from this building would cage them in the bunker forever. However, they chose to give their trigger for detonation to a dead man. One whom I knew would never leave your side, at that."

Clary wanted to worry about the fate of her friends, but she imagined where they were was a much safer position than the one she faced. Locked in a room with a mad man and her boyfriend who would eventually turn into a monster. Her eyes remained on the screens, finding the room she had been trapped in with the herd. Bodies and blood coated the walls and floors. A true massacre. She remembered the look in Jace's eyes when he had asked her about what happened in there. A chill ran down her spine.

"Did you do to me what you did to Kaelie?"

She didn't move, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Valentine smiled, satisfied.

"Kaelie was a mistake, a failure that cost me more than I gained," his eyes rested on Jace. "She was among other prototypes and tests."

"Others like Jem?" It was a long shot, Clary figured. But she had a hunch and if it proved correct, it could change everything. Valentine looked at Clary in genuine surprise.

"Now how did you hear about Jem?"

Clary shrugged cheekily, making it clear she wouldn't give up her info unless he gave her the answers she so desperately desired.

"Jem was a special case who I found in the woods, nearly dead. He had been stealing medicine from his group, addicted to the stuff, and had been strung up and left for dead. When I came across him, he had been bitten twice."

Clary found herself brought back to the group of old people who had mentioned a Jem and tied her up with similar intentions. She doubted it was any coincidence.

"I was in need of a new test subject and was curious whether my experiment could be successful on those who have already been bitten. Unfortunately, I was informed by my scientist that he was a failure."

But that wasn't true. Clary's hand brushed over the wooden box Jace had given to her. Alec had thought it important to tell her Jem had been a success, not to simply boast about pulling the wool over Valentine's eyes, but for something else. Something important.

 _If I choose, there can be another._

It hit her now what was in that box and what Alec had been implying. Jace could be saved. She could choose to save him, just as Jem had secretly lived. But what were the costs?

"Did you or did you not turn me into one of your experiments?"

Clary wasn't sure if she wanted to hear the answer, but she had to know all the same. She couldn't get her hopes up.

Valentine studied her, before smiling knowingly.

"You want to know whether or not it's safe to use on my nephew in an attempt to spare his life," Valentine put a hand to his chin, gears visibly turning within his mind. "And, as I have already told you what happened to Jem, I'm assuming you know something I don't. Perhaps my scientist was able to slip something by me after all in an attempt to delay my progress."

"Of course," he went on, "even if Jem had lived, there's no way to tell for sure if the effects were permanent or if they eventually began to wear off. Or, whether he eventually exhibited side effects like the others."

"There would be if you told me the truth," Clary growled.

Valentine sat down, appraising her cruelly.

"My dear girl, haven't you been paying attention at all? Only the strongest can survive the blood. Even if you remained true to yourself, it doesn't mean my nephew would. Nothing I say to you can make this choice easier. You said you would rather die than risk losing what makes you human, but would you allow Jace to do the same when you can save him?"

He laughed in a mocking tombre that made Clary flinch. She clutched the wooden box tighter, as if the closer she was to the choice, the easier the decision. But it wasn't easy. She held Jace's life in her hands, but more than that, she held the fate of her own. She knew if it were up to Jace, he wouldn't risk it. He would rather die than lose his humanity and be the very monster he tried to destroy. She would ask the same of him if the situation were reversed. But, her heart screamed to her, then Jace will be dead. Forever. And Clary would be alone, back to where she started. Except this time would be worse. She didn't know if she could recover this time.

But what if Jace could live? What if the two of them could beat death together and escape from this hell? They could take back the future they were meant to have and create a better world. Hope could live again. Instead of living in only _befores_ there could be _afters_. Could she survive knowing that there had been a chance and she had given it up?

Her hands shook as she opened the box, revealing the small syringe that would either save Jace's life or destroy whatever was left of it. She knew she was giving Valentine exactly what he wanted, but she didn't care. They could deal with Valentine later. But first, Jace would live. Taking a breath, she prepped the syringe. He would…

A hand shot up, stopping her. For a moment—a brief, awful moment—she feared the worst had happened and she had been too late. But no, Jace was looking up at her with those beautiful golden eyes of his. How could she ever have considered living without seeing those eyes again?

"Jace, I—"

"Please Clary," his voice had never been so soft, so vulnerable. "Don't do it. Please don't."

It was like her world came crashing down around her.

"But…I can save you. You don't have to become one of those things. We can be together."

"Not like this." Jace shook his head. "I wouldn't really be alive if I have to lose myself. I could breathe and feel, but you would be taking away the important things. Joy, Grief, Laughter, Love. I've seen what the effects of this do, and I would rather die than let a monster wear my face."

Clary shook her head, tears finally allowed to shed. She was able to keep herself under control before because she was able to pretend it wasn't real. That there was still a way out. And for a moment, there had been a brief flicker of hope. A chance. But even that turned out to be fantasy. Who was she to think that now could be any different when she knew better. It all ends the same.

But she shook her head because it wasn't fair. Because she had known not to open herself up to this hurt again, but had fallen all the same. Because the very act of motion was a partial distraction to the pain that would soon be unleashed.

"I need you, Jace. I just got you back."

His hand moved to cup her face gently.

"Ever since I was bitten, all I've thought about is seeing you. Getting to say goodbye. Now I realize that was selfish of me, for putting you through this again. But I can die knowing you'll be okay. You're strong, stronger than anyone. And now, you know how to cook more than berries, so that's extra points in your favor."

A small laugh escaped her at the reminder of their first meeting. But that laugh soon turned into more tears at the reminder that soon all they would have were memories. And though she had predicted then that he would die, even told him that to his face, she never could have imagined how much it would hurt.

"I love you." She couldn't remember ever loving anyone as much as she loved Jace. They had needed an apocalypse to be brought together. It had been naive to think that the apocalypse couldn't just as easily tear them apart.

"If you love me, promise you won't turn me into that. Promise that you won't let me become a monster. And that you'll survive, but more than that, you can't let the apocalypse win. You can't let it destroy you." His eyes grew softer if that were possible. He chose his words carefully, knowing each one could be his final.

"No matter what happens, I know that doing a favor to the human race by not letting a pretty girl starve to death was the best choice I've ever made."

Clary hadn't even realized she was still holding the syringe to Jace's neck. He had removed his hand from her wrist, sending a silent message. _There's nothing stopping you, except for his trust._ In the end, he couldn't overpower her. Not in this state. His only defense was the way he looked at her, with love and vulnerability and also fear. For Jace, this would be a worse fate than turning. Yet, his eyes told her, he would still love her if she chose to keep him alive. He couldn't blame her. But could she live with herself?

"This has always been the cost of survival," Valentine's voice echoed across the silent room, reminding her that the two weren't alone. "It doesn't matter how we survive, just _that_ we survive. He's always had too much idealism to understand the depth of the world we live in, but you and I know what's best for him, even if he is willing to give up."

But Clary knew the true cost of survival wasn't about scrambling to hold onto life and what one is willing to do for it. It is the pain one bears knowing those they loved are gone while they live on alone.

Clary looked away from Valentine, back to Jace. His eyes had shut once again. With a deep breath and a quiet sob, she threw the syringe at the wall, just barely missing Valentine's head. It shattered, and in that instant, Clary felt a part of herself shatter as well. But though it had gotten harder to breathe and her chest felt like it was being crushed, she leaned down next to Jace's ear and in a choked whisper said, "I promise."

Clary could have sworn she saw him smile faintly. But that would be impossible. Jace had already stopped breathing.

"Jace?" She felt like she was already dead. "Can you hear me? Are you still there? Jace!"

Clary began to shake him and suddenly she was the six year old girl shaking her grandmother. She was the college freshman begging her boyfriend to remember her. She was the little sister being shielded from her brother putting their parents down. She was the nineteen year old pretending her brother wasn't going to die. She was the survivor watching a little boy die after just opening her heart up again. She was Clarissa Fray.

But the one she was shaking was no longer Jace Herondale. It opened its eyes, startling her. Then came the groan. It was neither a growl nor a moan, but rather something inbetween. Something that had its own flavor, its own distinct pierce as it rang and groaned like the choking of a faulty engine, the churning of gravel and glass, and the desperate squeals of those trying desperately to hang on to life.

It was the sound of death; it was the sound of a life that was taken, just as they too could be taken at any given moment. It was the sound that they would one day hear, suspended above their tired, broken bodies just before they are ripped into and torn apart.

It was the sound of Clary's heart breaking as she looked upon the form of what was once the man she loved and knew she had allowed this to happen. This was what she chose. This was the cost of survival. But maybe it wouldn't be for much longer. Now that she was trapped in a room with a live zombie, it occurred to her that the only one with an active weapon was Valentine. She would be killed by the one she loved.

And despite the effort Clary had put into being a survivor, she was ready. She braced herself for the first bite as the fledgling monster struggled against her hold. The pain never came. Slowly, Clary opened her eyes. It was looking at her, but not really at her. Like she was invisible or…

Her eyes went to the blood and guts still coating her. Just like in that room, the zombie couldn't sense her. But, as she looked in the direction that the thing underneath her was thrashing, she knew one the zombie could sense. And though she had promised Jace she wouldn't let him hurt anyone, she had a feeling he would agree to make one exception. She let him go.

The zombie pounced before Valentine had a chance to reach for his gun. Clary got up from the ground when she heard the first scream. Wordlessly, she avoided the massacre, stooping to collect both Valentine's gun and the detonator from his body. Valentine screamed once more, but this time his eyes were on Clary. Despite being ripped to shreds, Valentine laughed.

"I'm proud of you, Clarissa," he cackled with a twisted gleam. "I always knew you were a survivor. Even without my experiment, you'll go far."

Clary clenched her jaw. A part of her wanted to leave, told her that she didn't need to see this. But she had to stay. She had to watch him die. And when he released his last desperate breath, Clary smiled and took pleasure in shooting him in the head. There was no way she would ever see him again.

The sound of the bullet startled the zombie, who turned towards her. The sight of Jace with blood dripping down his mouth and entrails leaking down his shirt made her dizzy. But it wasn't Jace. It was a promise she had yet to keep.

Clary raised the gun, pointing it at his head.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, more tears than she knew how to shed running down her cheeks. "Good night, sleep tight."

 _We'll both be dead by morning._

She pulled the trigger.

Everything else was a blur. Stumbling out of the room, marching undetected by the other traipsing zombie herd until she was far enough away, and then finally triggering the detonator. She watched the building burn for days. Not that there was much better for her to do. Once again, Clary found herself a lone survivor of the apocalypse. But in spite of everything, Clary had hope. Hope that one day this would all end and better days could come again. Hope that when her time came, she would be reunited with those she had loved and lost. After all she had been through, there had to be someplace better.

But in the meantime, Clary walked alone with only the company of _The Clockwork Angel_.

"This Angel has never steered me wrong," Tessa had told her once. "Whenever I feel lost, I trust the Angel to help me find what I'm looking for."

Whether Clary would find Tessa or something else, she didn't know. Clary was walking towards hope, no matter how long the journey took.

* * *

Years later, an old woman lay in a hospital bed listening to the steady beating of her own heartbeat. Which beat would be her last, she wondered? It was a question she no longer feared because she had done it. She had survived the apocalypse.

"Gran," she smiled at the familiar voice. "I made you a drawing. I know how you don't like cards."

She shifted so she could see the young girl. Little Clarissa grinned up at her toothily, her bright blue eyes and dark hair vivid even in the dim lighting. Though Clarissa wasn't her own grandchild, Clary loved her like her own just as she had loved her mother and grandmother. It had been nearly a year after Isabelle, Alec, and Magnus had been trapped in the bunker that they were reunited. It had been both wonderful and terrible, bringing up painful memories of why Jace wasn't with her while also filling her with love for the ones she had missed.

"That's beautiful sweetheart," Clary smiled warmly, beckoning her closer. The drawing was actually hideous—Little Clarissa had certainly gained her grandmother's art 'skills'—but what she lacked in talent she made up for in adorableness. The seven year old trodded over to her excitedly, though her face fell at the introduction of a new voice.

" _Clarissa my dad told you not to bother Granny Clary!_ " Clary couldn't help but roll her eyes at the know it all tone of Alec and Magnus's youngest grandchild.

"It's fine, Gabriel. She's not hurting anybody."

Clarissa stuck her tongue out at her cousin, a smug grin fixed upon her features. The twelve year old blushed, coming hesitantly closer to Clary.

"I made you a card!" He announced, holding it toward her proudly. Clary and Clarissa exchanged a secret smile and a roll of her eyes before thanking Gabe. He was so much like Alec. He would've been proud of his grandchild.

Alec was the first to go, followed by Magnus the day after by a broken heart. It had been just before the last zombie died. She wished they had been able to see the post apocalyptic world, but knew nevertheless they had been happy.

"Gran, what was it like? Fighting the…zumbas?"

Clary chucked at the little girl who would never know fear, or hunger, or survival.

"They're called _zombies_ , not zumbas," Gabe corrected snottily. "Right, Gran?"

She nodded with a slight roll of her eyes.

"It was hard, but the stars were beautiful."

Clary was the last survivor. She had been to the funerals of Alec, Magnus, Will, Tessa, and most recently, Isabelle. And though Clary was never able to have children of her own due to something Valentine had done to her, she was proud to be part of their families. It had been hell, but because of them, new generations could exist who had never known fear. Jace would be proud.

Because of them, there was an _after_. And now, it was time for Clary to have her _after_.

"Gran, what's wrong?" A small voice asked, but Clary couldn't answer.

She awoke to bright sunlight and tender flesh. Her own. Clary jumped up from the street she had no idea how she had come upon but recognized all the same. Her own. From _before_. Just as her skin and body were young, the age she was in her freshman year of college. Clary's heart beat quickly. Was this a dream or a nightmare? She could never tell, as she had had both frequently that would always begin on this street.

And in front of her, there would always be the same door. The one she had come knocking upon when she had initially fled from Simon. She had never been able to go inside in her dreams, no matter how much she wanted to. But this time felt different. Real.

Slowly, she made her way to the blue door and knocked even though she was afraid. Clary had survived the apocalypse. She could survive whatever was on the other side.

"I was wondering when you would come, little sister," Jonathan stood at the doorway, looking just as he had before. He was beaming as he looked at her. "I've missed you."

"Jonathan!" The words had barely left her lips before she flung herself at him in a hug. He returned it gratefully, holding tight with the promise of never letting go.

"Not just me, sis," he whispered in her ear.

"What do you mean?"

Clary looked up in confusion and saw them. She released Jonathan, tears freely flowing down her cheeks.

"Mom, Dad," her voice choked while she continued to take in the room. "Simon…Izzy…Alec…Magnus…Max…Tessa…"

"I think you're forgetting someone here, as much as I do love dramatic suspense."

Clary's breath caught and she spun. Jace was standing behind her, waiting with crossed arms and a wicked smirk she had missed.

"Jace," her voice shook. "You're here."

"I've been here all along. I've just been waiting for you."

She had dreamed of seeing him again every night. Now that he was finally there, it was like her heart was finally full. No longer did she feel like half a person.

"This isn't a dream, is it?" Clary asked. How many times had Isabelle comforted her after she had woken up crying from how real seeing him had felt?

Jace shook his head, eyes sparkling from tears of his own.

"No, this is real. I'm real, you're real, we are all real. But if you need me to prove it…"

Clary was already grinning when he brought her towards him and kissed her. His lips tasted like home, gentle and soft, passionate and in love. They were both crying and smiling and together. Nothing could tear them apart now.

"Are you two just going to be making out in public all the time now or…?"

"Shut up Jonathan!" Clary groaned, glaring at her brother behind her. He rolled his eyes.

"Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I'm not your brother. And just because the two of you are dead doesn't mean I can't hurt anyone that mistreats you."

Ignoring him, she turned back to Jace and grinned, leaning in—

"Yeah, so I'm a bit uncomfortable with this scenario, considering our history and all."

"Shut it, Ratface," Jace snarled. Clary sighed at the profanities Simon was muttering under his breath. She cocked an eyebrow at Jace.

"Is it always this…crowded?" She asked.

Jace smirked back at her, his arms still wrapped around her. She imagined it would be a long time before the two would separate. "Joke all you want, but you love it."

It was true. After a lifetime spent surviving, she felt whole for the first time surrounded by everyone she loved. It was the only _after_ she had ever dreamed of. Clary had survived. Now she had a chance to live.

* * *

 **This story has always been about Clary. Jace's role was in waking her up, showing her that she could still love. As such, an important aspect of this story is humanity. I really considered letting Jace be cured, but it would have gone against the very essence of the story's themes and all Jace has fought for if he took Valentine's 'cure' and everything was fine. And so, I thought more about how this story could have a happy ending and knew it** **involved Clary having everyone back.**

 **Hopefully, you understood why the ending had to be written this way and felt it did justice to the story's entirety. And, I want to thank all of you from the bottom of my heart who have chosen to support this story.**

 **-Anika**


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